


Recovery Boys

by weefaol



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Farm/Ranch, Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Bottom Jared, Drug Addiction, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Falling In Love, Farm-Based Recovery, First Time, Forbidden Love, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Making Love, Rehab, Rimming, Rough Sex, Secret Relationship, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Top Jensen, more spoilery tags in notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:47:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 38
Words: 70,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22108837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weefaol/pseuds/weefaol
Summary: At eighteen, city kid Jared Padalecki thinks he's got life all figured out — partying and pill-popping all over Washington, D.C. without consequence. But after a stint in juvie and an escalating OxyContin addiction, a judge sends Jared to purgatory, otherwise known as Jacob's Ladder, a farm-based addiction recovery centre in small town West Virginia. Jared has no intention of getting sober, of course. So he shoves a bag of pills in his pocket and plans to self-medicate through the next few months like a prison sentence.What he doesn't bargain for, however, is how much the mature, ranch hand Jensen Ackles — ex-military and Jared's sober coach — is going to take him to task. And after getting off on the wrong foot, he swears Jensen's mission is to make his time on the farm a living hell. Besides, it's not like Jared's going to learn anything from bucking hay, brushing horses, or fraternizing with a bunch of rednecks from Bumfuck, Nowhere.As he'll discover the hard way, at rehab on a ranch, not all roads lead to recovery.
Relationships: Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki
Comments: 328
Kudos: 329





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This tale of relapse and recovery is based on the documentary _[Recovery Boys](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XSS9kYipRLk)_. Settings, characters, and events are an homage to the film. These words are dedicated to the real-life recovery boys and the work of those who help them.
> 
> Written for the 2018 SPN Cinema challenge but never posted.  
> The story was unwieldy and unfinished until now.
> 
> Unbeta’d. All mistakes are mine.
> 
> My tumblr aesthetic for this story is tagged [here](https://weefaol.tumblr.com/tagged/recovery-boys-aesthetic).
> 
> More tags: Drug Use, Opioid Addiction, Detox, Withdrawal Symptoms, Alcoholism, Sobriety, Depression, Melancholy Ending, Hopeful Ending, Peer Pressure, Desperation, Relapse, Rock Bottom, Non-Fatal Overdose, Mutual Pining, City Boy Meets Grown-Ass Country Man, Square Dancing, Group Therapy, Implied Dubious Consent In One Scene, Closeted Character, Coming Out, Internalized Homophobia, Star-Crossed Lovers, Cuteness, Whispered Sweet Nothings, Call Me By Your Name Vibes, Brokeback Mountain Vibes, Kissing, Anal Fingering, Face-Fucking, Jensen's Got A Nice Thick Cock, Slight Feminization, Help I Fell In Love With My Sober Coach, Snarky Jared, Ex-Military Jensen, Life Lessons Learned The Hard Way
> 
> Jensen is 36, Jared is 18.
> 
> If you live for 100% _happily-ever-afters_ , read [freewinds](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15000338) instead.

**~ ACT I ~**

PROLOGUE

_________________________

“Three months probation and four months in a state-sanctioned rehabilitation program. Do you accept?”

Jared Padalecki grits his teeth. His bones shake, standing behind the defence desk in Courtroom B of the D.C. Pre-trial Services Agency on Indiana Avenue. Doesn’t want people to see him vibrate like this. Rocks unsteady on his feet when his expensive defence attorney elbows him in the rib cage.

_Jab. Thud. Bruise._

Jared hates lawyers.

“Yes, I accept,” he mutters, rolling his eyes at the Honourable Constance Brillman. Paints on a shit-eating grin.

“Good.” The judge leans forward, peering down at him over her glasses. “And my personal advice, Mr. Padalecki, is that you take this seriously. You won’t be a minor for much longer and federal prison is a far cry from the juvenile detention centres you’ve grown accustomed to.” She raps her gavel. “Dismissed.”

He’s led by a legal team in expensive suits out of the courtroom and down the hallway into a conference room. His attorney sits nearby to fill out some fancy paperwork — something about where they’re shipping Jared off to… He’s already got a reputation in Washington, D.C.

“Big mistake to fidget so much in there. Judge Brillman noticed.”

Jared hates judges.

“Wasn’t on purpose,” he mutters. “It’s boring, sitting there while people decide your future.”

The attorney doesn’t even look up as he pen-scratches on paper. “No one’s deciding your future but you, Jared.”

Jared rolls his eyes. He wants to make a snarky comeback, but his brain won’t work. All he can focus on is the itchy creep through his veins — his head’s all fogged up. He squirms in his chair.

_An hour till it gets bad. Fuck._

His lawyer has started on some gibberish about how he’s headed to an alternative treatment centre this time, but the screams of panic in his head overwhelm him.

Jared jumps up, jostling the table and making his lawyer’s pen bleed all over the constitution. “Gotta make a phone call.”

“I can’t allow you to —“

“One _fucking_ phone call. Dad said so.”

The lawyer sighs but throws his hands up, leaving Jared free to burst forth from the conference room, down the hall, and into the adjoining office. There's sweat at his temples, he can feel it itching. Leans on the reception desk and puts on a pretty-boy smile for the woman behind the computer.

“Sweetheart, I need your phone for two minutes. It’s an urgent call to Prosecutor Gerald Padalecki.”

She casts a sidelong glance at the eighteen-year-old beauty queen who just called her ' _sweetheart_.' Purses her lips and hums, unamused. “Dial 9 to get out.”

He winks and turns the phone towards him. His fingers fly across the keypad, muscle memory of the sequence well-exercised. Turns his back to the desk and cradles the receiver at his ear, trying and failing to look innocent.

_Briiing, briiing._

_Come on, come on. Pick up._

There’s a security guard at the elevator, talking into his radio. He’s looking straight at Jared.

_Shit_.

The receiver clicks. Relief, as the voice on the line asks, “Who’s this?”

“Spoony. It’s Jared. Look, I need something. Now.”

A pause. “Bro, where you callin’ from?”

Jared sighs, clicking his jaw. Lowers his voice, “The courthouse.” Longer pause. “Hello?”

“Bitch, you did not just ask me to deal you at the motherfuckin’ courthouse.”

The security guard starts making his way across the foyer. Jared’s temples throb. “Come on, man. I'm jonesing, bad. They’re sending me to fucking _rehab._ ”

Silence. “Where at?”

Jared sighs. Twists his torso as the security guard approaches. “Out of state.”

A laugh from the other line. "Nah, bro, you're on your own."

_CLICK_. It goes dead.

“Spoony. _Spoon —_ ”

Nothing but dial tone. Jared slams the phone down as the security guard grips his elbow. _God damn it._

“Come on. Back to your lawyer. Let’s go.”

He’s steered back down the hall from whence he came. A thousand thoughts run through his brain, the most omnipresent one is elbowing the guard in the face and making a break for the fire exit.

_One hour till the migraine kicks in._

Sensing fight or fight, the guard tightens his grip. “Are we gonna have a problem, kid?”

His lawyer's approaching from the other direction. There's no where to go. He’s trapped.

Little do they know — Jared has a knack for weaseling his way out of things.

With a burst of adrenaline, he kicks back at the guard, connects with his shin. As he yelps in pain, Jared manages to escape his clutches and barrel down the hallway as fast as his feet can go. Bowls straight through his lawyer like a six-foot-four wrecking ball and sprints towards the exit.

_Almost there. Almost there._

One miscalculation. He should’ve known the security guard is a professional. That he’s bigger and stronger and faster. Highly trained for runners like him.

The _crack_ he hears is the sound of his chin hitting the floor. The guard takes him down in one brutal tackle, knocking the wind from his lungs and pinning him to the ground. He passes out from the pain, but not before he feels the slice of two plastic zip-ties tighten around his wrists.

Jared hates security guards.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER ONE

_____________________

Aurora, West Virginia. Where the sky bleeds orange and pink at sunrise. Purple clouds and kaleidoscopes. Silhouettes of wooden fences and grain silos against the rolling pasture dawn. A solitary moo-sound echoes off the sky. Open expanse. Freedom of nature.

To Jared, it just smells like horseshit.

He’s not used to this, being out in the country, the open air. The trees are full and leafy. Tumbleweeds bounce across pothole roads. There are people outside barns in cowboy hats and holsters. It’s fucking weird. Jared’s from the _city_. Washington, D.C. Embassy Row, to be precise. Where power-suits are business casual and cocaine is handed out like Halloween candy. Political junkies.

You don’t see much of the middle of nowhere when you grow up a top prosecutor’s son, an only child in one of the most cutthroat cities in the world. A city that’ll chew you up and spit you out if you aren’t careful. Luckily, Jared’s avoided all that. He’d been dragged to his first Young Republicans party when he was twelve, took his first Adderall when he’d found the other rich kids — spoon-feds like him — in one of the upstairs bedrooms. Pills were passed around and spit was swapped like sugarcane. Got his first blowjob from some high school track star who wanted to play at being queer before going off to Princeton.

You grow up fast in the Capital.

And it wasn’t long before Jared had found his own way to pass the time on Embassy Row, ditching his security detail and sneaking into underground clubs, meeting twinky boys and butchy men and everything in-between. Smoking and snorting and swallowing any pharmacological trail mix he could find — moved on from Addys to Kiddie Coke till he landed on pain pills.

Roxy was his first true love. With a capital “O.”

They call it Hillbilly Heroin. Proper name OxyContin. Fucks you up real nice without the stigma of shooting up. Syringes and spoons are for white trash folks. Jared's more White House.

_Welcome to West Virginia — Wild and Wonderful_

The sign reads like sarcasm. Shakes him back to the present.

As Jared gazes out the backseat window, the buzz from his opioid nightcap wearing off, he gets dizzy from the telephone poles zipping by — road markers that take him further and further away from his home, his friends, his dealer. It’s just temporary, this rehab stint. He’ll muscle through it, manipulate and deceive (his specialties), and then get back to his real life — partying, procrastinating, making the underbelly of the nation’s capital his playground.

Four months. Sixteen weeks. 120 days.

He reaches into his jeans pocket and withdraws two pills from a plastic baggie. He’s on a budget and shouldn’t splurge like this. Can’t help it. It’s neurological now. Pops them into his mouth and swallows dry.

He’s still on Day Zero time.

~~~

Jacob’s Ladder.

The biblical ascension. The link between heaven and earth.

Also, a shit little ranch in the back of beyond.

They’d had to drag Jared kicking and screaming from the courthouse. Send a court-appointed guard to accompany him to his father's mansion, wait while Jared packed a bag and ducked into his dead mother’s medicine cabinet to retrieve the emergency bottle of Percocet. He’d started out frantic, but the overnight drive from D.C. to Aurora, West Virginia and the pill cocktail swimming in his stomach has managed to calm his nerves.

There’s nothing around. Nothing in this Bumfuck town except a few historic homes, a Church, and the Tipsy Bear Tavern. The rest is fields, far as the eye can see. As the sun peeks over the horizon, the car inches down a dirt road. The smell of pig shit makes his nose wrinkle, the peach trees roll by in a blur. There are faint _moos_ and _baahs_ peppering the quiet as the car pulls up to a farm house. It’s a dull beige colour with a wooden front porch — rocking chairs on the deck like old people use. It’s the most boring-looking place Jared’s seen in his life.

But no more boring than the bald man standing on the front steps, waiting to greet him.

Jared sighs, lets his head fall back on the leather seat and shuts his eyes. Maybe when he opens them again everything will be back to normal — he’ll be at Ziegfeld’s, all fucked up on Molly and dancing with some thrill-seeking diplomat he won’t remember tomorrow. God, he wants it. He’d give anything for it.

 _Knock, knock, knock_.

Three raps on the window jostle Jared from his dream world. The man from the stairs is just outside the car, grinning at Jared through the glass. He’s got a grotesque shaved-head and goatee. Looks like Mr. Clean, waving through the glass like a moron.

“Mister Jared?” says his driver, Manuel, prompting another weary sigh from the backseat.

There’s no weaseling out of this one.

Reluctantly, Jared gets out of the car, head-spinning as he straightens up. He’s coming out the other end of a 12-hour binge and his heels are _dragging_.

“Hello, Jared,” says Baldy, extending a hand. “Welcome to Jacob’s Ladder.”

Jared takes it. Shakes it once but avoids too much eye contact. The people here are gonna be cult-freaks, he can tell.

Baldy turns to the driver, then back to Jared. “Is your father going to get out of the car?”

"Are you fucking kidding me? That’s my _driver_.” Grumbles as he digs his duffle bag out of the trunk.

“My mistake,” says Baldy. He leans down and waves as Manuel drives off, leaving Jared in a cloud of dust at the bottom of the stoop.

“I’m Doc,” says Baldy, clapping Jared on the shoulder. “Founder of the place. Come on in. We’ll get you set up.”

~~~

The house is old, like one of those antebellum farm houses you see in music videos, but it’s been updated with new porch wood, modern shutters, a paint job. Floorboards still squeak, though. What a dump. As he follows Doc through the hall, it strikes him how different it feels to his own house back in D.C. There’s no ceramic or stainless steel here. It’s all wood and stone. There’s a fire crackling in the hearth. Makes the whole place smell like forest.

Jared’s never been to a bonfire in his life. Doesn’t get the appeal of watching flames turn into smoke.

He follows behind Baldy (or, Doc, as he’s learned), floating through the house in a dense brain fog, scoffing at cracks in the paint and creaky floors, until he’s led into what must be the main office. Two desks squashed inside, a couple of chairs and a big ol’ rednecky deer head mounted to the wall.

Jared swallows, dreading what’s to come. His _closet_ is bigger than this.

There’s a large, Native-looking guy sitting behind one of the desks who stands when they enter. He’s got a toothpick between his teeth.

“Beto, this is Jared. He’s our newest intake. Jared, Beto.”

“Nice to meet you, Jared,” says the man, shaking his hand. They’re warm and almost sticky. It makes Jared cringe.

Doc claps him on the shoulder again. Jared wishes he wouldn’t do that. It’s not like they know each other.

“You’re going to spend the morning with Beto, who’ll get you into the system. Get you all set up for success here. I’m going to make sure Jeff’s stuff is cleared from your side of the bedroom.”

His ears click into listening mode. Regret swirls in his gut because, _no_ , there’s _no way_ he’s going to share a room with some redneck who cooks meth on a Coleman stove.

“Hold up, a _roommate_? No... there must be a mix up.”

Doc barks out a laugh and claps him on the shoulder for the third time in five minutes. Jared _depises_ him.

“No mix up, I promise. And Jeff’s a great guy. Came here straight from county jail.” Doc hums contently. “I’ll leave you with Beto to get you processed.”

Doc exits the office, leaving Jared seething in his seat, trying to wrap his brain around the fact that he’ll be sharing a room with a fucking felon.

 _This place is HELL already_.

Beto rubs at his beard. “Jeff was actually our very first patient here. He’s got a few months left till graduation. And, counting yourself, we’ve got six young guys here now, working the program.”

_Not if I escape first._

“It’s a trial program, really. We’re a few months in to it now. Got some of the best helpers in the area on board.”

_DON’T. CARE._

Jared lets his vision blur until his ears thump with heartbeats. Can feel the two Oxy pills dissolve and slip into his bloodstream. Starts to feels like bliss.

“Okay, Jared, let’s start with the basics. Full name?”

He’s tugged out of his stupor again.

“Jared Tristan Padalecki. P-a-d-a-l-e-c-k-i.”

“Date of Birth?”

“March 10, 1994.”

"No kids, no dependents?”

Jared scoffs. “Kids? I’m eighteen.”

“And this is West Virginia…”

Of course it is. These are white trash people with white trash problems. And Jared’s going to do everything he can to rattle their ignorant world.

“No kids," he lilts. "I don’t fuck girls anyway.”

See if _that_ shakes up their farm idyll, so far removed from any queer scene. Precious, Bible-belt, West Virginia.

Beto nods. “Okay. What about creed. Religion? Gang affiliations? Anything like that?”

Jared grits his jaw, annoyed he didn’t get a reaction. Maybe he didn’t hear him quite right. “Nope.”

It’s not entirely a lie. He does know a couple of gang bangers back in D.C., a couple of the higher-level drug pushers, but Washington isn’t known for street gangs. If you wanted to get murdered, you could get it done quietly at the hands of a political foe or a foreign diplomat. Or the Secret Service. Jared bets there are no bulletproof car windows in Aurora.

“And what do you hope to get out of this treatment program, Jared?”

He shifts in his seat, shrugs. “I just want to do my time and get the fuck out of here. Back to normal life.”

“ _Do my time_ ,” quips Beto. “Sounds like you’re in prison or something.”

“Aren’t I?”

Beto looks at him for a moment, then shuffles papers around on his desk. Chews at his toothpick. “Here’s a copy of the Jacob's Ladder code of conduct, plus your daily schedule. We keep things pretty regimented around here — you have to have written approval to leave the premises, there are chores you’ll be responsible for, mandatory group meetings and therapy, but we try to have fun too.”

Jared very much doubts he’ll be having fun here. To him, fun involves sneaking around the streets of Massachusetts Avenue, getting head at Rock Creek Park, or popping pills on the lawn of the Washington Monument. This po-dump farm in the middle of nowhere is the _opposite_ of fun. There aren’t even any gays, any girls, any black people here.

No, this is White Trashville. And Jared’s stuck here for four goddamn months, all over a stupid probation violation.

After what seems like another hour of health-related questions ( _No, he doesn’t have HIV; No, he’s never fucked without a condom, miraculously_ ), he signs some papers saying he’s committed to the process and how he’s not currently in possession of any illicit substances (yeah, right), blah blah blah. Then Beto shows him out to the dining room, which is basically just a big wooden table with ten chairs. The smell of spicy chili wafts from the adjoining kitchen where, behind a set of saloon doors, he can see a big fat guy cooking. There’s a modest spread of cornbread and chili laid out for him.

“Eat up while you can,” warns Beto. “The rest of the boys’ll be back in here for lunch soon. You’ll have to fight over biscuits and cornbread.”

Jared’s stomach turns. In D.C., boys are his specialty. One glance across a private nightclub and he knows if he’ll be fighting or fucking within the next half-hour. Prefers a combination of both — shoving a closeted congressman to his knees or pushing in to stretched-out tight spaces. D.C. boys are his thing — what he understands the most.

But West Virginia boys? He has fuck all experience with their breed.

~~~

After pushing his spoon around the bowl of chilli and a few measly bites of cornbread (the thing about eating pills is that you only have an appetite for powder), Doc returns and sits down by the window Jared’s been eyeing up as an escape hatch. It’s almost noon in West Virginia and he’s seen all there is to see.

“I just spoke to your roommate, Jeff. He’s got his stuff cleared away, ready for you to move in.”

Jared’s teeth clench. He’d forgotten about the roommate.

“Jeff’s a great guy,” continues Doc. “You two may not have a lot in common, but give him a chance and he’ll give you one.”

“What is that, some redneck code?”

Doc grins. “Something like that.”

He sighs. Suddenly, everything hits Jared like a strike of lighting. How’s he supposed to survive here when he hates everyone’s guts? Is he expected to suffer through backwoods hillbilly shit and 'faggot' jokes and lame conversations about hunting? He’s so out of his element here — even the air smells different — and he can't decide whether to laugh or cry at the judge's cruel joke. _Here_ , of all places.

A fish out of water suffocates if it’s left too long.

“Before I send you upstairs,” says Doc, “I just want to reiterate that myself and everyone at Jacob’s Ladder are here to help you in your recovery. Our job is to get you what you need to kick your addiction. We’ve got a great staff here — Beto, Grant, Jensen, Craig, Gus — and they’ve seen it all, even been through it themselves. So, Jared, this is your time. Time to do what’s right for yourself so you can live the life you want to live. Drug free.”

There’s a squirmy worm in his belly that wriggles at ' _drug free_.' Like that’s ever gonna happen. Even if he wanted it to...

“Your lawyer called last night and said the judge ordered you to do a preliminary detox before arriving here. And we don't do urine tests. 'Round here, our word is our bond. So, let me ask you, Jared... Are you clean?”

People underestimate how good Jared is at bullshitting. How a hot towel to the head, a bit of fake vomit, and moaning like a wild animal could fool anyone into thinking that Jared had weaned himself off drugs. Truth is, he’s hiding a bag of pills in each flap of his duffel, his last stash until he makes a connection in this town. Hopes to god the pills aren't all cut up with Fenty.

“Yeah, ‘m clean,” he mutters, avoiding Doc’s eye. Can almost feel the Oxy he’d swallowed eating away at his stomach lining. “And really fucking happy about it too.”

Doc chuckles. “We’ve all been there. And it might not seem like it now, but it gets easier every day.” He gets up and prompts Jared to do the same. “The animals help too. A lot of the guys find it soothing to take care of ‘em.”

“Uh, is that required? Cause I don’t know shit about goats or anything.”

“No goats here,” says Doc with a grin. “And, don’t worry, Jensen manages the farm. I’ll take you down to meet him after lunch. He'll show you the ropes.”

Jared his eyes. The last thing he needs is some old farmer Joe teaching him how to feed a goddamn chicken.

“You’re gonna do just fine here, Jared. You’ll see.”

He very much doubts that. But, until he graduates from this place in a few short months, he’s stuck here. Imprisoned at the furthest place from home he can imagine. But he’s got a motto to help him through:

Keep your head down.

Do your time.

Get free.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER TWO

_____________________

It’s 12 o’clock noon at Jacob's Ladder and a warm Southern breeze wafts gently through the window at the end of the upstairs hall. After intake, Doc had led Jared up to his bedroom — third door from the stairwell, creaky floors — and left him alone to get settled in. In the quiet, Jared’s surroundings come into clearer focus. The room’s about a third of the size of his bedroom back home, and this one’s designed for two people, crammed in like sardines. Other than the lack of legroom, it’s not horrible. Modest, recently renovated. Tiny ensuite bathroom. Hardwood floors…

_Single bed. Ugh._

Nothing like the king sized one Jared’s used to.

He’s in the middle of unpacking his bags, shoving all the clothes he brought for the next four months into cleaned-out drawers when he’s startled by a voice at the door.

“New guy?”

Jared turns to face a short, sinewy dude, maybe about 25, with wiry black hair and thick eyebrows to match leaning against the door frame.

“Guess so…”

The guy steps into the room and extends a hand. “Jeff. Bunkmate.”

“Oh,” says Jared, shaking his hand and wondering if Jeff got those stick-and-poke knuckle tattoos in prison. “I took a couple empty drawers.”

“They’re yers,” says Jeff, who saunters over to his own bed and collapses on it. Scratches at his belly and watches Jared put his things away. The silence is broken by Jeff’s Arkansas drawl, “So, whadda’ya in for? Blow? Dope? Meth?”

“Um, Oxy.” Jared tenses his jaw. His, ‘er, _habit_ is the last thing he wants to talk about. He can feels his stash of pills burning holes in the pockets of his duffel bag. He’ll have to find a good hiding place while his roommate’s asleep. Looks exactly like the type who would steal shit.

“Straight dope for me,” Jeff hums. “Got all hooked on H while I was workin’ nights at a tire factory. OD’d four times. Fenty’s a heartless bitch.”

“Yep,” Jared hums, half-listening. He’d never be caught dead doing fentanyl. Filthy shit. All of his stuff is pure prescription — no lacing, no dilution, no cutting.

“What’s yer name?”

He sighs. Of course his roommate is a _chatter_. “Jared.”

“Like the Subway dude,” says Jeff, the crick of a smile at his lips.

Jared slams his drawer shut and sits on his bed. “No, it’s from the Bible or whatever.”

“You a God-fearin' man, Jared?”

Jared scoffs. “Fuck no.”

There’s an awkward silence. But there’s no way in hell Jared’s going to ask him back. He pretends not to notice the silver cross hanging from Jeff’s neck.

“Been here a month now,” says Jeff, changing the subject. “Well, thirty-three days, but who’s counting, right?”

It hits Jared that he’ll soon be expected to be one of those lame, day-counting, “one day at a time” people. At least he’s got enough Oxy to get him through the first couple weeks. Ease into it. He’ll figure the rest out later.

“Gotta get clean this time,” Jeff continues. “The wife’s about to get locked up again. Trespassing. Don’t want my kids to get put into foster care, so I gotta get straight.”

There’s nothing less interesting to Jared than backwoods custody battles or whatever.

“Got two little girls waitin’ on me back home. How old are you, Jared?”

He sighs. “Eighteen.”

“Ha, knew it. That’s when I had my first. Condom fuckin’ broke.”

Jared rolls his eyes to himself. _Sure it did_.

“Hey, where’re you from anyway? You ain’t sound like you’re from around here.”

“D.C.,” he offers, trying to wrap his brain around the fact that, in this neck of the woods, _Jared_ has an accent. He wonders what it must sound like to these people. “Born and raised in the District.”

A mischievous grin highlights the dimples at Jeff’s mouth. “City boy.”

Jared grits his teeth. He's not in the mood for being the butt of some dumb joke. Figures he should get through his first day without choke-holding a local. Changes his tune. “Um, so, does it suck here?”

Jeff shrugs. “Place ain't half bad now that I’m sober. Good food, good people, gettin’ outside. The pigs are pretty dope.” He narrows his eyes. “You meet Ackles yet?”

“No. I think he’s my sober coach…”

Jeff barks out a laugh. “Shit! You poor bastard. He’s tough, Ackles is. Army guy. Did two tours in Iraq. You best be sure you don’t get on his bad side. He’ll make your life hell.”

_Challenge accepted._

“Sounds like he’s got a giant stick up his ass," Jared mutters. _Or needs one._

Jeff laughs and shakes his head. “Tell him that and you’ll find yourself at the wrong end of a cattle-prod, city kid. Just sayin’.”

To Jared, it doesn’t sound like too bad a time.

~~~

Once Jeff grabs his work gloves and heads back downstairs, Jared considers slipping into the bathroom to jerk one out — the buzz of his pill high and memories of foreign consulate tongue down his throat at the club last night are making his palms sweat. Instead, he plays it safe and twiddles his thumbs on the bed, paralyzed with thoughts about his dick getting lonely, when he gets interrupted by Doc. He's come to collect him for a tour around the ranch.

The landscape looks different in the light of midday: the pastel paint on the farm house, the fields that stretch on and the forest that borders them, the big red barn down the hill that fences in the grazing sheep. Car alarms and the _whrr-rattle_ of Metro trains are replaced with sounds of Middle America: chickens, pigs, sheep, tractors, the _whoosh-whoosh_ of wind in leafy trees. It fucks with Jared's head as he plods along the grass two steps behind.

Their first stop is the chicken coop, where Doc shows him how they collect the eggs of the twenty-eight laying chickens and feed them grain every morning. Nasty, disgusting smelling things. Jared think he’d rather eat shit than spend any time with these peckers.

Next is a tour of the cow shed, where sixteen Holsteins have to be fed, milked, and tended to on a daily basis. Big ol’ buggers. At one end of the shed, Jared notices his roommate, Jeff, along with a bushy bearded guy he’s introduced to as “Rush,” filling up pails with fresh milk.

“Jared, c’mere,” beckons Jeff while Doc tends to a leaky water hose. “See how it’s done.”

Jeff demonstrates the proper milking technique — how to squeeze the teat in just the right way so the milk squirts out. _Gross_.

“Here. You try.”

Jared scoffs. “Fuck no.”

Jeff and Rush exchange a look, then laugh. “What, they don’t got milk in D.C.?”

After flashing the bitchiest _prove-you-wrong_ face he can muster, Jared squats down on the stool at udder-level, feeling repulsed but eager to wipe the smirks off of their stupid faces. He tugs on one of the teats, getting nothing except mild moo-sounds from the cow’s mouth.

“Ol’ Daisy’s sweet talkin’ you,” chuckles Rush, whose grin reveals a gap where a front tooth should be.

Jared rolls his eyes, determined to show these backwoods hicks that he’s not the weak-ass city kid they take him for. He switches up his technique, places his hands higher up and squeezes from the top down. Jeff, Rush, and Doc look on with curiosity.

“No shame if you can’t get it,” says Jeff. "Ain't easy for everybody."

Jared ignores him and keeps at it. He fails a few more times but soon gets the feel for the rhythm, tugging until tiny squirts of milk land in the bucket.

“Ha! City boy’s got moves,” says Rush, surprised. He winks. “Comes in handy with girls too.”

Jared brushes his hands as he stands up, getting a slight head rush of opioid-fever. In D.C., he never felt the need to hide in the closet. But something about the Southern twang makes Jared think twice about letting that sacred part of himself be known. At least for now.

God only knows what hillbilly homophobes are capable of.

After Doc tours him around the greenhouse (where fresh vegetables — peppers, lettuce, beets — are watered and weeded daily), the grain silo, and the pig sty, they make their way down towards the big red barn at the far edge of the ranch.

“Jensen works the barn,” says Doc as they walk down the hillside. “He’s your sober coach. He’s the person you’ll talk to when you’re struggling. Help keep you on track.”

“Heard he’s kind of a dick.”

Doc laughs. “Well, he’s about as warm and fuzzy as a Yukon porcupine. Yep, he’s tough, no question.” He narrows his eyes, surveying Jared. “And he don’t like bullshit.”

Jared kicks at a loose piece of straw sticking up out of the grass.

“There he is now.”

Through his Oxy brain fog, Jared trains his eyes on the figure emerging from the stable doors, gripping leather reins attached to a raven-black horse and leading it out of the barn. He’s tall, probably nearly as tall as Jared, but wider. Broad shoulders, sturdy legs. Thirty-five-years-old-ish. Plaid-clad. He brushes at the neck of the horse with his hand.

“Hey, Jensen,” Doc announces as they approach.

The guy looks up and nods. Clicks his tongue and leads the horse over to the paddock fence and ties it up.

Doc leans over to Jared, “Ain’t smart to spook Black Lightning. She’s a kicker.”

The guy meets them on the dirt road in front of the stables, withdraws a rag from his back pocket and wipes his hands.

“Jensen, this is Jared,” says Doc. “Jared, meet Jensen Ackles. Damn fine stable hand and your sober coach for the next four months.”

Jensen nods, brilliant green eyes affixing on Jared. Sizing him up in a way that makes his stomach churn with unease. Doesn’t extend a hand to shake, not that Jared would touch his filthy farm-fingers anyway. Don't even say, 'hello.' _Asshole_.

When the silence gets to be too much, Jared nods towards Black Lightning. “What are you, the horse whisperer or something?”

Jensen doesn’t break eye contact. Just pierces Jared’s skin with that stare as he polishes his hands with the rag.

“Could say that.” He scans Jared up and down. “And what’re you, momma’s-boy-trust-fund-baby?”

Jared bristles. The nerve. The fucking _nerve_ of this guy. Doesn’t know half the shit Jared’s been through. Doesn’t get that nobody, _nobody_ , can say shit about… _her_. His blood catalyzes from warm to boiled over in an instant. Plucked at all the wrong chords.

“Least I don’t shovel shit for a living…”

Jensen raises an eyebrow, looks over at Doc and grins. “Oh, this’ll be _fun_.”

Doc chuckles. “Jensen's in charge of assigning your daily chores.”

His stomach sinks. _God fucking damn it._

Jensen cocks his head, an evil twinkle in his eye. “Now, what were you sayin' about shoveling shit?”

He wants to run. Or throw a right hook. Anything to wipe that stupid smirk off his stupid freckled face. He hates Jensen Ackles already.

“Go easy on Padalecki here,” says Doc, clapping Jared on the shoulder. “He’s a city boy.”

“Oh _really_?” Jensen raises his eyebrows, appraises Jared like he can’t wait to serve him a hearty dose of backwoods reality check. “Pretty useless at farm chores then.”

Jared clenches his fists, toes at the dirt. It’s not like farming’s something to be proud of, for fuck’s sake. And his cheeks burn at the idea of Jensen going _easy_ on him.

“Actually, Jared had a knack for milking ol’ Daisy.”

“Daisy’s easy,” says Jensen, stuffing the rag back into his pocket. Pulls a toothpick from behind his ear and sticks it between his back teeth. “Ever work with animals?” he asks, addressing Jared directly.

He shrugs. “Just your sister…”

For a second, he thinks he’s gone too far, said too much. It’s a clear reminder to pop another Oxy when he’s back in his room — help fight off the moodiness. But to his surprise, Jensen huffs a laugh. Shakes his head. Stares back at Jared with _I’ll-show-you-who’s-boss_ eyes.

“Enjoy Day Zero, city boy,” he says with measure. A threat. “Come tomorrow morning, your sweet ass is mine for four whole months.”

He winks at Doc and walks back toward his horse, leaving Jared to seethe at Doc’s heels.

As they head back up toward the farm house, Doc chuckles to himself,

“Hoo boy. You done screwed up.”

~~~

At six o’clock, after a shower, another pill, and some alone time in his room to cool off, Jeff drags Jared down to the dining room for supper. They sit down for caesar salad and steak from Gus, the chef. It’s been forever since Jared’s had a home-cooked meal.

Against his will, Jeff introduces Jared to the other recovery boys — Adam, 24, who arrived less than a week ago with a nasty heroin addiction; Rush, 27, the big-bearded mountain man who's on his tenth rehab stint after OD-ing for the fourteenth time; Billy-Bob and Bobby-Jon (of _course_ ), who don’t say much save for Southern mumbles but are a few weeks into the program too. Through the clatter of forks and steak knives, Jared picks through his salad and keeps to himself, glancing around at the strange cast of characters. And the way they act like brothers makes his stomach hurt. An only child, Jared's never seen grown men act like brethren before.

Throughout the meal, the Jacob's Ladder staff rotate their seats at the table too — Doc, Beto, Grant, and Craig alternate as they finish up whatever tasks they're busy with in offices or greenhouses. The only person absent, Jared notices, is Jensen Ackles.

_Hmph, doesn’t even bother showing up. Doesn't need to eat. Douche_.

“I want to raise a glass of… club soda,” says Doc when he joins the table, “to our newest resident. Jared, we hope you feel welcome and at home here. And I know I speak for all when I say that every last one of us are here to support you in your recovery. Welcome, Jared.”

Everyone raises their glasses and clinks them together, a chorus of muddled ‘ _Welcome, Jareds’_ filling his ears like cotton. Jared grimaces. He doesn’t want to be the “new guy.” Doesn’t want anyone to know his name. Doesn’t even want to _be here_. All he wants is to do his time and then get back to normal life — partying, playing around, pleasing prosecutors. He can already tell he’s not gonna like anyone here.

And he'll bet his stash there aren't any queers like him in Aurora.

“Jensen is Jared’s sober coach,” adds Doc. “He’s normally here for meals, but there’s a Holstein emergency, so he’s elbow deep in cow innards. I know he sends his regards.”

Jeff leans over to Jared and whispers, “Yeah, right. If there’s anything Ackles ain’t, it’s sentimental.”

They finish up dinner (they have a rotating schedule for dish-washing and drying) and then Beto gives Jared his schedule for the week. Tomorrow, he’s slated to be up at the crack of dawn (are you _fucking_ kidding?) to help with farm chores. Makes a mental note to pop two pills as soon as he wakes up, just to get him through the first day. And, after an hour of evening “Class Time,” where the boys get lectured by some ancient-looking local about how to whittle ducks out of wood (which everyone seems to be taking _way too seriously_ ), Jared eases into his bedtime routine, slips into his boxers and T-shirt, brushes his teeth and double-checks his stash of secret pills he hides inside a clean pair of socks while Jeff brushes his teeth.

At 9pm sharp, Jeff says “Night” and clicks the lamp off, plunging the room into darkness. It’s the first time all day that Jared’s felt a genuine quiet. It unsettles him, being alone with his thoughts like this. He usually copes by sneaking out his bedroom window and hitting up the gay bars for Molly and closeted politicians.

Here, there’s no such luxury.

There’s a bad taste in his mouth leftover from the afternoon — his encounter with Jensen Ackles. The twisted idea that this guy — this military, tight-ass, _dick_ — is supposed to be his mentor. Supposed to help him kick this addiction shit. It’s laughable, really. That he’d be paired with someone who he had nothing in common with. Who’s probably a fag-hater, just like the rest of ‘em.

Jared shuts his eyes and sighs into the dark. Focuses on the rush of oxycodone in his veins and tries not to think about how he’s gonna manage to survive Jacob’s Ladder. Chock full of hillbillies, baby-daddys, and welfare abusers. All straight, all Southern, all backwards.

There’s nobody like him here. Of that much he’s sure.

Makes him wanna jump the fence and hightail it through the woods till he reaches town. Till he finds someone to supply him with what he needs — what he _likes_ — to get back to fucking normal. Even the animal sounds, the sheep bleats and the horse whinnies, are bucking him off-balance.

If he’s going to survive these next four months, he’s going to need all the help he can get.

And, for Jared, help is spelled O-X-Y.


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER THREE

_____________________

The rooster crows at 5am.

It’s nothing like the _cock-a-doodle-doo_ sounds his mother had recited from children’s books. More like the cloying caterwaul of a dying animal. Again and again. Until the sun comes up.

_Fuck._

Jared can hear Jeff stirring from across the room, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, inhaling the morning air and rustling around in the sheets. Before long, he hears him groan and roll out of bed, stumbling towards the bathroom. The creak of the shower faucet, a billow of steam from under the door.

Jared turns over, lays face down on the bed and covers his head with a pillow to block out the crack of first daylight through the curtains. It’s not supposed to be this difficult. At home, he stays up all night and sleeps in until whatever hour he chooses.

One day here and he’s already sick of it. They should leave him alone to get used to it, just a little longer…

He drifts back to sleep and only wakes again when he hears the _creeeeak_ of their bedroom door.

“C’mon, city boy,” says Jeff, munching on a piece of buttered toast as he buttons the snaps on his flannel jacket. “Grant wants you downstairs in two minutes to walk you through daily chores.”

Jared groans. Plunges deeper into the pillow and folds it up around his ears.

“Suit yourself,” Jeff shrugs. “But if I were you, I’d get yer ass up now. Unless you wanna be on chicken shit duty all afternoon. Smell’s enough to make you hurl.”

The door shutting behind Jeff pierces Jared’s ears like knives.

Alone, he rolls over, rubs at his eyes and sighs. He’s got a headache scratching at his right temple and he knows the only prevention of a full-blown sickfest is the white pills hidden in his sock drawer — the only motivation he needs to get out of bed. When he stands he nearly keels over from dizziness. Head-spinning, he fumbles through the drawer and finds two pills, ignores the panic that sets in when he counts how many he has left, pops them in his mouth and swallows. Down the hatch. Now he can relax. He throws on a T-shirt and jeans, takes a piss and then drags his “sober” ass downstairs.

Most of the other guys have already headed out on the ranch to start chores. A sleepy-eyed Rush lingers at the breakfast table, sucking down black coffee like it’s liquid cocaine. Billy-Bob pours maple syrup on scrambled eggs. _Gross_.

“Morning, Jared,” says Grant, one of the sober coaches and farm hands, who enters the dining area with a way-too-awake smile. “Sleep okay?”

“Fine,” he shrugs, rubbing his eye. Hovers around the table, hair akimbo, waiting for instructions.

“Gotta get you down to the barn, show you how things are done around here. Grab a piece of toast for the road. Jensen don’t like it when you’re late.”

_Course he doesn’t._

“I’m good,” says Jared, stuffing his hands in his pockets. A cup of coffee sounds okay, but he’d probably end up throwing it up on such an empty stomach. He’s queasy enough from all of this whiplash.

“Alright then, let’s go.”

Grant sends both Jared and Rush down to the barn where they’ll be helping stack hay or some other bumblefuck chore. When they arrive there, Jensen Ackles is waiting with a frown.

“You’re late.” He eyes Jared with an army-grade glare as he adjusts his ball cap. “If I were you, new kid, I wouldn’t let that happen again. Grab a pitchfork.”

Jared, armed with his best scowl, toys with one of the implements that leans along the barn wall and drags his feet to follow Jensen inside the barn. There’s a massive stack of hay bales at one end and a two-story tall pile of loose hay nearby. It doesn’t look promising.

“Gotta get that pile into bales, fellas,” says Jensen, nodding at the loose stack. “I’m guessing you never made a hay bale, eh, Pakaleski?”

“Padalecki,” grits Jared. “And no. I leave the manual labour to the help.”

Jensen cocks his head in challenge. “Well this’ll be a whole new experience for you, then. Rush, grab the hay hooks, you’re gonna buck hay with me. We’ll leave the easy stuff for Padaleski... so he don’t have to lift any of those dainty fingers of his."

“ _Lecki_ ,” mutters Jared under his breath. And his fingers aren't _dainty_. They've found their way inside more liquored-up politicians than he'd care to admit. Not that these hicks would know anything about it. He kicks at the ground as he drags himself over to the pile. Watches as Jensen grabs a 4-foot wooden crate and some baler twine from a nearby shelf.

“You’re gonna lay the twine along the crate like this”—he clips three lengths of twine and lays one lengthwise along the crate and two widthwise—“then grab some hay to line the bottom, make a base. Then you just keep stuffing more in until it’s a tight square. Use your hands, feet, elbows, whatever.”

He watches, mortified, as Jensen layers hay into the crate, then stomps and packs it with his boots, pressing the unruly straw into a square. There’s _no fucking way_ this is a legitimate task. His mouth hangs open in disbelief.

“You — you don’t have a machine to do this? It’s gonna take _forever_ by hand...”

“That’s why they call it manual labour,” says Jensen, wiggling his five fingers. He shoves more hay into the crate.

“’S why they call it a _chore_ , too,” adds Rush, grinning from atop the stack of hay bales.

“If you think you’ve packed enough to finish a bale, you’re wrong,” adds Jensen, trampling down another handful of straw. “When you figure you’re done, throw double the amount on and keep packing.”

Jared shakes his head and groans as he watches Jensen layer another pile on top and stomp it down. The _effort_. The sheer _effort_ involved. And this is just the first bale. There must be enough hay for a hundred…

This must be some kind of joke. A first-day hazing ritual. Fuck with the new guy.

Jensen steps out of the half-full crate, his glinting green eyes affixed on Jared’s bewildered ones, no doubt delighting in his forthcoming misery.

“Welcome to life on a farm,” he says with a grin. He grabs a pair of worker gloves off the shelf and shoves them into Jared’s chest. “Wear these. Don’t wanna damage those pretty hands.”

Rush snickers from above as Jensen joins him to start stacking the already formed hay bales.

Jared throws the protective gloves aside out of spite. There’s _no way_ he’s gonna do this. Nuh-uh, not a chance. This doesn’t even have anything to do with recovery or sobriety or… human decency, even. This is some slavery shit.

“ _Human rights violation_ ,” he grumbles.

Pouting, he starts picking up little handfuls of hay and dropping them into the crate, packing and stomping it until it’s somewhat tight. After awhile, the hay starts to blister his hands, making them raw and itchy. He glances at the work gloves long since cast aside, but then remembers the sound of Jensen’s stupid voice — _don’t wanna damage those pretty hands_ — so he suffers on without them, stubborn as all hell.

The first two attempts at tying hay fail miserably. The bales are flimsy, not packed tight enough, and fall apart when Jared tries to pull them from the crate. He grits his teeth — hates to admit it, but Jensen was right about underestimating the amount of raw hay you think will fit. On his third try, about an hour later, he adds triple the amount and the bale actually comes out of the crate in a lumpy rectangle. Mildly satisfied, he ties the twine tight and tosses the bale to the side.

Jensen’s voice echoes from the rafters. “Now just do that a hundred more times and you might make a dent in that pile.”

Blood rushes to his cheeks like wildfire. He’s already exhausted and his hands burn with blisters and cuts, but there’s nothing he can do about it. He’s stuck here with these backwoods idiots for four months. So he curses under his breath, pulls on the goddamn gloves he’s been ignoring, and lays the twine for bale number two.

Hours go by and, as he packs, his eyes start to wander over to where Jensen and Rush are working. They’re doing something called “hay bucking,” a highly-intensive stacking maneuver. To do so, the person at the bottom (Jensen) uses hay hooks to toss the heavy bale up to the person at the top of the stack (Rush). It looks exhausting to Jared, who can barely yank his own hay bale free from the crate, let alone launch it fifteen feet into the air. After watching the sheer _effort_ of it for a moment or two, he turns back to his task with a begrudging new appreciation for having two feet on solid ground.

Mid-morning, Jensen finally calls it quits. Jared’s hands are bleeding from packing just seven hay bales. Worse than that, he’s never regretted skipping breakfast more than he does now. There’s a starving gremlin clawing at his insides and all he can think about is scarfing down two helpings of whatever lunch Gus has whipped up for them. Worse still, he can already feel his Oxy wearing off — the beautiful painkillers sweating out through his pores in useless excess.

“Shower up,” says Jensen, mopping the sweat from his brow on his way out of the barn. “Lunch in fifteen. Then I’ve got y’all for afternoon meeting… and, Jared, I’ll be damned if you’re gonna sit there smelling like it’s the first honest day’s work you’ve done in your life.”

It’s truly a miracle that Jared hasn’t gone off and sucker punched him yet.

“What meeting?” he groans to Rush, once Jensen’s out of earshot. He’s tired, hungry, and his muscles are screaming. All he wants to do is collapse in his too-tiny bed and sleep the exhaustion off.

“Group,” says Rush, drenched in sweat as they head back up toward the farm house. “You know, the 12 steps… "AA" and that shit? Got one every afternoon. Get used to it.”

Jared rolls his eyes. “It’s not like the movies, is it? Where a bunch of losers sit around in a circle and talk about their _feelings..._ ”

Rush chortles. “Boy, you’d better lose that chip on your shoulder if you wanna survive here. This is my tenth time in rehab and, sure as shit, the program don’t work if you don’t work it.”

Jared groans, rubbing at his sore neck-back-wrists. As they walk, he glances back across the field and watches Jensen Ackles make his way to a cabin at the edge of the woods that Jared hadn't noticed yet. He shakes his head at the sight of him — janky legs and swagger-stride — knowing full well that he’s going to end up on his bad side before the day is done.

~~~

After a quick shower that does nothing to soothe his overused muscles, the boys meet in the farmhouse for lunch. Jared keeps to himself as he scarfs down steak sandwiches and potato pie, deflecting the odd question from Bobby-Jon or Adam about where he’s from, what movies he likes, or if he’s ever been bull-riding. Gives one word answers, avoidant and dismissive, while the conversation continues around him. He’s not here to make friends. Just do his time and get back to real life.

Two bellyfuls later, Jared follows Jeff down to the living room where the other guys are congregating. There’s a circle of chairs and a coffee maker percolating one of the end tables. As the guys begin to take up their seats, something about the configuration — facing inward, being put on display and forcing confrontation — makes Jared ill at ease. He shuffle-kicks at the floorboards and takes up a spot in the corner. Waits, pulse-racing, as his blood slow-boils under his skin, cursing the fact that he hadn’t had the wherewithal to dig into his Oxy stash. There’s a cold creep in his veins that says he's got an hour until he’s scritch-scratching at the walls. It’s two minutes to the hour and, if he sprints, he might have enough time to scamper up to his sock-drawer and pop two before —

_Shit, motherfucking, damnit._

Jensen Ackles walks through the doors, almost unnoticed in scuffed up work boots, clean jeans and plaid shirt, ball cap pulled darn near over his eyes. Doesn’t make eye contact or conversation, just heads to an empty chair and takes a seat.

_Shit._ Jared can’t leave now. Not unless he wants to find out exactly what happens when the new kid shows up late for the second time in one day.

“Okay, let’s get started,” says Jensen, clearing his throat to quiet the room. “I’m Jensen and I’m an addict.”

The chorus of ‘ _Hi Jensens’_ makes Jared cringe. These people are all drones. And they take everything way too seriously. He’s not like them at all. He’s just a queer kid on drugs trying to have some fun, for god’s sake.

“Most of you know I started drinking when I got back from Iraq,” continues Jensen. “Alcohol helped me cope with some of the stuff I went through over there…”

Jared closes his eyes so he can roll them, undetected. Bet Ackles thought he was _saving_ everybody or something. Dick.

“…Never had so much as a beer before my first tour. Never had the urge. But, hell, it sneaks up on you quick. Wasn’t long before I was drinking so much I blacked out. Drinking till I couldn’t stand who I was anymore. Got tired of not knowin’ where the hell I was at… waking up next to people I didn’t recognize…”

Jared’s ears perk up at that. He can’t picture Ackles, Mr. Stick-Up-His-Ass, ‘ _You’re late_ ,’ hooking up with random girls. _Not at all._

“…Got to a point where I didn’t care about anything ‘cept where my next swig of vodka was coming from. Hit rock bottom. Realized I had to make a change.” He shifts in his seat. “So, I cleaned up. Spent a few years in recovery in Kentucky. Worked the program twice and the second time stuck. Been sober twelve years now. One day at a time.”

The circle claps politely, offering little nods and hums of encouragement. Jared keeps his hands crossed over his chest. _What a goddamn American hero. Wonder how many innocent people he’s killed?_

Ex-military guys must have a shitty attitude detector programmed in, for the next thing he knows, Jensen’s staring right through him with those blazing green eyes.

“Your turn, Padalecki,” says Jensen, serious as a heart attack. “Jared’s our newest resident. 'M sure you've seen him around. Why don’t you go ahead and tell everyone about yourself?”

Jared squirms, keeping his arms crossed as the gaze of the five other residents turn towards him. He’s never been one for public speaking, unless it’s shouting from the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, drunk off his ass and flying high on hydrocodone. But this is the last place he wants to speak up. He’d rather sink into the earth and be swallowed whole.

“I’m Jared. From D.C.” he mutters. “Um, don’t really know why I’m here.”

He sets his jaw. A stubborn, say-no-more.

Jensen fills the silence. “You’re here because you’re making the choice to be better. To get control of your life. To not let your addiction destroy you.” He pauses, sizing up the snarky new kid, who’s giving him nothing back but a scowl. “First step is admitting you have a problem. And around here, we start our introductions by acknowledging our addiction.”

“I didn’t choose to be here,” bristles Jared, an edge to his voice. The Oxy in his veins is really starting to wear off now. He’s got to get back to his room — his _stash_ — or sooner than later Jacob’s Ladder is gonna have a raging bull on their hands. “My ass got dragged here because of some dumb shit… a misunderstanding. I don’t belong here. I’m not like any of you. I’m not an—“

“Just so we’re clear,” says Jensen, cutting him off, “you were court ordered here because you got arrested for breaking and entering the private home of a U.S. State Senator on the hunt for opioids.” He affixes Jared with a stony glare. “Did I get it right?”

Jared clenches his jaw so hard it clicks. Grumbles under his breath, “Fuck you.”

“What's that?” Jensen leans forward in his seat. The way he shifts, a subtle threat, makes Jared’s pulse quicken.

“Never mind,” he resigns.

Jensen relaxes again, sits back. “Well, welcome to Day One of group, Jared. You can try again tomorrow. In the meantime, everyone say ‘hi’ to Jared.”

“ _Hi, Jared._ ”

_Keep my name out of your filthy fucking mouths_.

The sooner this meeting is over with, the sooner he can have sweet relief running through his veins.

By the end of the hour, his skin’s itching for another dose. He’d caught an earful of the group conversation here and there — some sob story about a dead brother or losing custody of a daughter… real white trash stuff. It’s impossible to focus when his own brain bounces between fear and dread.

_Why the fuck hadn’t he taken another Oxy before the meeting? Will anyone notice if he takes a bathroom break to sneak up there? Can he take two and still have enough for the week? Who’s gonna bring him his next stash way out here? Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK._

When the meeting finally ends, he’s beyond bugging out. And when he hears the scrape of chairs across the floor, he leaps up to dash upstairs when he hears that dreaded low voice,

“Padalecki, stay put.”

He flinches. No way that Lame-Ass-Ackles is gonna get between him and his fix. “Um, I have to go to the bathroom.”

“It’ll only take a minute.”

“You want me to piss myself all over this nice chair?”

Jensen’s jaw tightens. He nods to a door off the living room, behind him. “Then use _that_ one. Make it quick. I don’t got all day.”

Fury and panic rips through him. Because Ackles is not fucking around. _God damn drill sergeant._ But Jared does well to keep up appearances — feels Jensen’s eyes on him as he slinks across the room to the en suite. Closes the door and holds himself back from kicking it square off the hinges. Takes a few deep breaths in a fruitless attempt to calm the storm in his brain before running the taps and reemerging.

The others have cleared out and Jensen is left rearranging furniture, moving chairs back to their proper places. Jared doesn’t bother helping. He just folds his arms across his chest and watches. He didn’t come here to arrange the fucking furniture. Didn’t come here to lift a finger or bend to the tyrannical will of some army-reject alcoholic who doesn’t know Jared from a hole in the wall.

“What? Are you gonna _talk?_ ” he huffs after Jensen is quiet for over a minute. He feels like a sassy fifteen-year-old but he doesn’t care because he’s jonesing bad. Just wants this shit to be over.

Jensen eyes him carefully. “Anything you wanna tell me?”

Jared freezes, squirms in his skin. Can Jensen smell it on him? The desperation? The bullshit? The _I’m two minutes away from withdrawal and you’re in my WAY_?

“Anything you wanna get off your chest?” His gaze drifts from Jared’s dilated pupils, to his bouncing knee, to the fingernail-itch at his forearm and back again.

_He fucking knows. No, not possible._

Jared plays it cool. “Dunno what the hell you’re talking about.”

“Not today, then,” nods Jensen, disappointed. “Alright, instead, wanna tell me why you were so uncooperative in group today?”

He's going for the third degree.

“Maybe I’m _shy_ ,” sasses Jared, narrowing his eyes. “The quiet type.”

“I’ve seen shy. I’ve seen quiet. Your sorry ass ain’t neither.”

Two minutes with Ackles and he’s already exasperated as all hell. All he wants is to get back to his room. Back to his goddamn pills.

“The fuck do you want from me?!”

Jensen crosses his arms. “I want you to work the program. I want you to admit you’re an addict. That you need help.”

Jared fidgets. He’s never needed help from anybody. He’s not about to start now from a fucking _stranger_.

“Not admitting shit.”

Jensen stares blankly at him for a minute, then drops his head, shakes it. “I’m here to help you, kid. Quicker you realize that the better off you’ll be.” He scans Jared up and down one last time — rakes his eyes over the clammy skin, the shakes in his bones. “When you’re ready to quit the bullshit, lemme know.”

Jensen goes back to moving furniture and Jared has the undeniable urge to kick him square in the back. The itch in his veins wins over. He leaves the room and sprints upstairs, pops two Oxys and swallows ‘em dry. Feels relief like he’s never felt before. Collapses back on his shit-single bed and lets them swim around his stomach for awhile.

He’s not an addict. Not like these people.

The drugs just make everything normal.


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER FOUR

_____________________

Doc was right. Jensen Ackles doesn’t like bullshit.

In fact, he hates it so much he’s stuck Jared on manure duty, shoveling shit from one end of the pasture to the other.

“Keeps the pile oxygenated. Gives it fresh nutrients,” Jensen barked after Jared had initially refused to take the shovel offered to him.

It was like the hay bale ordeal all over again — a task so menial, so _beneath_ him, and yet so labour-intensive that Jared vowed he would swallow an unprecedented three Oxys at lunch. Anything to dull the rip and tear of muscle fibres he’d never used in his life. This morning, he'd awoken before the rooster’s crow, joints aching, muscles screaming bloody murder.

He’ll never get used to this.

But after two solid hours of shit-shoveling, Jared had grown accustomed to the excruciating monotony of the task — _dig, lift, turn, walk-walk-walk-walk-walk, toss_. Rinse and repeat. It was exhausting, laborious, and only made bearable by the already dissolved morning pill dulling the aches and pains. It kept his head just foggy enough that the seconds slipped by, bleeding into minutes, into hours without much distinction.

Around 10am, when the sun’s getting hot and sweat pours off his temples like a nun in a cucumber patch, Jared shovels the last bit of manure, tosses it onto the pile just as Jensen rounds the corner of the barn.

“You done?”

“What’s it look like?” Jared huffs, breathless and weary, spearing the shovel into the freshly-stacked shit.

Jensen hums, appraising the new pile for a moment. There’s a glint in his eye. He turns his head and shouts into the barn, “Hey, Adam, c’mere a minute!”

Soon enough, a sweat-laced Adam emerges from the barn and stands at Jensen’s side.

“Adam, whadda you think about the pile being over here now?”

Adam surveys the manure pile and shrugs. “Not sure why it needed movin’ in the first place…”

Jared takes a step forward, eyebrows knitting together. “It’s for the nutrients… keeps everything, uh, fresh.”

Adam just stares back at him, blinking until he lets out a snort. “You’re joking, right? Dude, it’s _shit_.” He bursts out laughing, shakes his head. “And way further away from the pig pen now…”

This time it’s Jared’s turn to blink. He glances over at Jensen, who can’t help but break into an evil grin and it makes Jared’s stomach drop because he realizes all too quickly that he’s been fucking _had_.

“Wait… what —“

“Thanks, Adam. That’s all I needed,” says Jensen. Adam heads back into the barn, snickering and shaking his head. Jensen turns back to Jared, steps closer, eyes blazing. “And you know what? I changed my mind. I think I liked the pile better where it was before.”

_No. No… This isn’t happening._

“You’re fucking kidding me, right?”

“Nah, Adam’s right. It was closer to the pig pen before. Makes more sense.” Jensen rubs at his chin in mock-contemplation. “You can go ahead and move it back now.”

_It - it was all pointless. Punishment. For yesterday…_

“No. No way,” he huffs, hands on his hips in protest.

Jensen takes another step closer, really moving into Jared’s space now. He’s a tad shorter than Jared, but the sheer _presence_ of him primes every nerve-ending in Jared’s body. This man has seen some shit. Done some damage.

“Then I’ll tell Gus to forget about lunch till you’re done. The other boys’ll _love_ that. Real good way to make friends, Padalecki.”

“I’m not here to make friends,” he spits, raging like the moody teenager he is. It’s _humiliating_. “And I’m not fucking doing it!”

Jensen sighs. “You _are_ doing it. And I’m staying here till you finish. Lucky for you, I’ve got no other plans today.”

“Yeah cuz you’re a lame piece of shit.”

Jensen huffs a mirthless laugh as he gets comfortable on a nearby hay bale. Digs a piece of sugar cane from his breast pocket, sticks it in his mouth, and smiles. “Wow, Padalecki, you’re right. You’ve got me all figured out.”

“I know a dysfunctional, power-tripping loser when I see one…”

“And I know a spoiled-rotten, insecure _liar_ when I see one.” He pauses, letting the words sink in, knowing full well they slice through Jared like a buzz saw.

There’s a pit in Jared’s stomach that no amount of Oxy will fill.

“Now,” he continues, “a little less talky and a little more worky. Shit ain’t gonna shovel itself.”

Jared grumbles, the wind gone from his sails, “Dick.”

Jensen just sucks on his sugar cane and, for the next fifteen minutes, ignores Jared’s huffing and puffing before heading back into the barn to brush the horses.

At a quarter to twelve, in record time, Jared gets the last bit of manure back to where it’d been and throws the shovel into the pile, where it sticks like an axe on a target. Without warning, he feels a strong hand clap down hard on his shoulder and another one on his chest.

“Looks great,” Jensen grins, winking.

Jared flinches away. “Fuck you, asshole.”

Jensen nods. “Shower that stink off you. Lunch is in ten.”

He retreats, headed across the lawn towards the little cabin, leaving Jared to walk up to the farm house alone. As he pulls his sweat-soaked shirt off to shower, he notices a fresh piece of sugar cane in the breast pocket.

~~~

Craig runs the group meeting this afternoon. He’s tolerable, if somewhat boring, and he doesn’t pester Jared to participate the way Jensen had. Leaves him well enough alone, allowing for the overdose of oxycodone to eat away at his stomach lining. After group, there’s an hour of yoga on the patio. They bring in a local instructor three times a week to guide them through it. Even the staff, Jensen included (to Jared’s surprise), gets in on the action, spreading out mats and towels along the deck.

Holding yoga poses while high _and_ at the peak of muscle exhaustion is the most surreal experience Jared’s had in years. He sweats buckets and his head swims with dreamlike visions. It’s much harder than he’d imagined. Can feel his triceps shake and shimmy, threatening to give out during half-chaturanga, or whatever the fuck it’s called. Rolls his eyes when, after the class, a couple of the guys linger while the pretty blonde instructor chick with the tight body chats with Beto and some of the other staff.

“Gotta love that downward dog,” mumbles Adam, grinning and staring.

“Love them yoga pants too,” says Rush, staring at her ass. “Eh, Jared?”

Jared shrugs. Might as well come clean. No point in hiding it. Not sure he _can_ for much longer. “Not for me. I’m gay as hell.”

A chorus of boyish laughter emanates from Adam and Rush. And, maybe he's just seeing things, but he swore he saw Jensen turn his head a little.

_Bunch of homophobes._

“What, that’s _funny_ or something?” he says. Hell if he’s gonna let these uneducated country bumpkins get the best of him.

“Yeah,” says Rush, giggling. “I mean, we ain’t know nobody _gay_.”

“Well, congratu-fucking-lations. Now you do.”

The guys exchange a look. Then Adam pipes in with a curious, “Wait… you’re serious?”

“Yep,” says Jared, three Oxys and yoga brain giving him all the courage he needs. “I fuck dudes. Got a problem?”

It’s the first time Jared’s been honest, truly honest, since he got to Jacob’s Ladder. The boys murmur to each other for a moment. Jensen stands off to the side, listening in with one ear.

Adam shrugs, “Nah, man, it’s cool.”

“Whatever floats your boat,” adds Rush.

_Whew. Relief._

It’s a moment of quiet contemplation and confusion before Rush elbows Adam, chuckling. “Prolly why he’s was so good at milking Daisy. Kinda like a fella’s —“

“ _Gross_ ,” says Adam, wincing and shoving Rush off balance. Casts a cursory glance at Jared, “I mean, no offence.”

Jared rolls his eyes and nearly smiles. _None taken._ His muscles are molasses from his pills and, besides, he’s never lived in the closet and he’s not about to start now. It seems like harmless banter anyway. Nothing like the undercurrent of hostility he’s faced in the streets back home.

Another moment of silence passes before the two break into more giggles and groans. But Jared walks away with the distinct feeling like they respect him more somehow.

Guess that’s what being honest gets you around here.

 _Huh_.

~~~

The evening passes by slowly. After dinner (spaghetti and meatballs with crispy garlic bread), there’s an hour of music therapy. This week, it’s some Native American drum circle.

A freakin' _drum circle_.

Jared thinks he’ll die by the time he’s finished at Jacob’s Ladder. With each day it becomes more clear: he’s got to get out of here. Escape back to reality.

He retires to his room around 8pm, the hollow rhythm of drums still pounding in his head. Jeff’s already there, reading a _Wolverine_ comic on his bed. Jared showers, brushes his teeth, and changes into a clean pair of boxer shorts and T-shirt, hand ghosting over his secret sock-drawer stash. A pang of guilt, the first one he’s felt since he arrived, makes his stomach clench. He’s heard Jeff talk in group about how fast he relapses when he’s around drugs. As long as he doesn’t snoop around in Jared’s drawers, he figures it’ll be fine. It’s his dirty little secret anyway.

He climbs into bed, ready for sleep after a long day. Closes his eyes until he hears a voice from the next bed over.

“So, I heard you’re a faggot.”

Jared takes a steady breath. “Yeah, I am.”

The room is silent for a moment.

“You ain’t worried about it being a sin?”

Jared sighs. “Well, I don’t believe in God, so it doesn’t matter anyway. And why the fuck would God care if I was gay?”

Jeff hums. Thinks on it. “Bible says so.”

“Yeah, well, God didn’t write the Bible, did he?”

There’s a few minutes of silence that almost convinces Jared that Jeff has fallen asleep, or, better yet, fallen into some sort of religious stupor. But then he hears his voice again, softer this time. Less of an edge.

“I ain’t got a problem with you, Jared. Just so you know.”

Jared pauses. He wasn’t expecting that. “You sure?”

“I’m sure. Long as you don’t try anything funny on me.”

“You’re not my type,” Jared chuckles. He figures that’s as best as Jeff’s gonna do. And it’s already more than Jared gave him credit for. “Anyway, you don’t have to worry. I’m not gonna ‘ _try anything_.’”

“Okay, then. We’re good, man.”

Jared falls asleep, feeling lighter than he has in days.


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER FIVE

_____________________

The first week on the ranch is Hell.

Every square inch of Jared’s body aches with the drag of ten-thousand needles. He’s never done so much manual labour in his life. Before this, the most he’d ever lifted was a drunk buddy slung over his shoulder, or a backpack full of high school textbooks thrown off the Arlington Memorial to make his friends laugh. But farm work is _real_. Heavy-lifting, back-breaking stuff. Bucking hay bales, herding stubborn cows around, lugging feedbags from the barn to the chicken coop.

It’s a world unlike Jared’s ever known. And he _hates_ every minute of it.

Another day, another afternoon of sitting around a circle with the rest of the boys, breathing deeply ( _inhale...exhale_ ) and trying not to feel completely stupid. Today they’re outside on the porch for group meeting and it’s Jensen’s turn to lead. There’s a spritz of warm rain misting the air, the occasional bray or bleat tickling their eardrums. It would almost be relaxing if they weren’t stuck sitting in a circle like first graders.

Jared blinks one eye open and glances around — Jensen, Jeff, Adam, Rush, Billy-Bob, and Bobby-Jon are all seated with their eyes closed, breathing soft and deep. Meditation. "Grounding" and "gratitude," they call it. _Mindfulness_. Jared sighs. Just what he needs, more time alone with his drug-addled mind. More time with the voice that hisses, _You’re running out of pills_...

Truth be told, Jared can’t stand the quiet. Because the silence lets the voices in his head back in, just like they had before he started on Oxy. Before he needed pills to keep them at bay. He shakes his head and distracts himself by glancing around the circle, observing.

Jeff’s got a funny little patch missing in his left eyebrow, almost like he’d split his head open and it scarred over. Adam’s wearing a Metallica “Ride The Lighting” T-shirt with a hole at the collar. Rush has tons of weird tattoos — a few stick-and-pokes and the makings of a full sleeve on one arm.

Next, Jared’s eyes settle on the bane of his existence, his _nemesis_ — Jensen Fucking Ackles. God, he looks like such a hard-ass, even in a meditative state. He’s got this cocksure way about him, like he’s got all the answers or something. His hands are cradled in his lap, palms turned upward, farm-thick fingers curled. Each time he breathes in and out, his chest rises and falls. Giant lung capacity, no doubt.

Jared's got good observation skills.

He notices that Jensen’s got that ex-military body — broad chest, strong arms and legs, broad shoulders — but one that’s gone a bit soft over the years. Thickened up thighs in faded jeans, calloused fingers... Got the beginnings of a beard too, a semi-close shave that scruffs around the cheeks, its reddish brown tint matching the freckles on the bridge of his nose.

Jared hums and shuts his eyes. He hates his sober coach’s guts, that’s for damn sure. But even still, Jared’s only flesh and blood. He can’t deny that Jensen’s an annoyingly good looking dude — and Jared hasn’t seen one of those since D.C. Hasn’t jerked off since then either. Feels like his virginity's grown back.

Soon, Jensen’s watch beeps. There’s a slow rustle of movement, of boys beginning to fidget and stir from their deep-think time. Jensen gives everyone a moment to wake up, stretch, get their heads on straight.

At last, he speaks. “Jensen. Addict.”

“ _Hi, Jensen_ ,” chimes everyone but Jared.

“Today I wanna check in with you guys. You know, how you’re doing. ‘Bout what’s going well for you this week and what’s been a struggle…” He nods across the circle. “Adam, you wanna start?”

“I’m Adam and I’m an addict.”

“ _Hi, Adam_.”

Jared’s stomach clenches. It’ll never stop being lame.

“Been havin’ a kind of shit week,” says Adam, wringing his hands. “Um, I got a letter from my Grandma, telling me how glad she is that I’m gettin’ help for myself. How she forgives me and stuff.” He pauses, shakes his head. “It’s tough ‘cuz I pretty much ruined her life. Sold a bunch of her stuff to buy dope, lied to her on numerous occasions, showed up at her door all fucked up, askin’ for money.” He leans forward, puts his head in his hands. “She’s 80 years old and workin’ at the Goodwill so she ain’t homeless, man. I mean… how can she forgive somebody like me? I’m strugglin’ with it.”

Jensen nods. “Thanks for sharing, Adam. What do you guys think? Anything you can offer your brother here?”

Rush clears his throat. “I’ve definitely been there, Adam. And havin' guilt about some of the things I did when I was all fucked up got me stuck in the past. We all done things we ain’t proud of. But we can’t change it, no matter how bad we wish we could.”

“Rush's got it right,” offers Jensen. “We’re addicts. The only thing we can do is learn from our mistakes. Learn and then choose to move forward in our recovery.” He nods across the circle, then turns to Jared. “How ‘bout you, Jared? Anything you’re strugglin' with this week?”

Jared squirms in his seat. It’s the first time Jensen’s addressed him like this, with some semblance of _concern_ , since the first group meeting. And it just so happens that Jared’s got a lot of guilt simmering under his skin. Mostly because he’s sitting here high as fuck, opiates swimming in his bloodstream, while the rest of the guys are struggling to keep clean. But, more than that, he’s got _fear_ — fear that’s soaked into his skin and bones. Because his supply is dwindling fast. He’s got four pills left and they’re tucked in his jeans pocket now, safe under his right hand, like an oath. With no connections in Aurora, it’s only a day or so until he hits withdrawal. Till his demons catch up with him.

It’s the fear that makes him angry.

“Nah, I’m good.”

“You’re good?” Jensen’s eyes are like stone. “Everything’s perfect? No issues at all?”

Dude’s a living, breathing bullshit detector. And stubborn as all Hell.

Jared’s stubborner. “Peachy keen.”

A few of the guys in the circle sigh in exasperation. They’re getting sick of Jared’s shit. Jensen too, but he’s learned patience from twelve years of sobriety.

“Come on. Give us something. What’s been buggin’ you this week?”

“Alright. Your motherfuckin’ _voice_ has been bugging me. Satisfied?”

Jensen flexes his jaw and nods his head once before he cuts his losses and moves on. “Jeff, how ‘bout you? What’s been going on?”

Jared zones out as Jeff drones on about some white trash custody battle — how Child Protective Services are about to take his daughters or something. It’s not like Jared cares anyway. Jeff got himself into this situation because he made bad choices, plain and simple. Besides, Jared’s got his own shit to worry about and these daily sob stories are really starting to get on his nerves. That, and the press of his fingertips on the four lonely Oxy pills in his pocket. And there comes a point when he just can’t take it anymore. He stands up, cutting Jeff's rambling off mid-sentence.

“I — I can’t listen to any more of this negative shit. I’m outta here.”

He knows he won’t be able to stomach the look on Jensen’s face, so he just bows his head and slinks out of the circle.

“Jared, what you're doin’ is bullshit, man,” says Adam, his accent slicing like a knife. “You got no right to be a little bitch like this.”

“Fuck off, Adam.”

Adam raises his voice. “I’m _serious_. You don’t got respect for none of us!”

Jared turns around. “You bankrupted your fucking _grandmother_ , asshole. What’s there to respect?”

Jensen stands up suddenly, face turning rage-red, and pointing his finger. “Jared, get your sorry ass down to the barn and wait for me there. You and I are gonna have a nice long sit down after we’re done here.”

Throws his hands up. “Great! I love our talks.”

He storms off in a huff, knocking his chair over and stomping across the wood beams before jumping off the porch steps. As he shuffles towards the barn, kicking at the grass, he figures he’s got a good forty minutes of peace before the hellfire of Jensen Ackles rains down upon him. He clenches his fists and laughs like a maniac.

In a sick way, Jared thrives on this. On the drama. On pushing peoples’ buttons. On getting a rise out of Jensen.

It's the one thing he can control.

And it’s not like there’s anything else to do around here.

~~~

Jared waits and he waits and he waits some more. Takes the little baggie from his jeans pocket and swallows two more pills to pass the time. (Denies there's just two left.) Chews on a few bits of wheat out of sheer boredom, plunks down on a hay bale and watches one of the sheep — the big ol’ pregnant one — munch at a tuft of grass. Stretches out lazily, letting his T-shirt ride up his belly. Doesn’t even mind the itch of hay on bare skin, the Oxy’s making him fly. Doesn’t bother moving an inch when he hears the scuffle of boots on barn floor, footsteps that grind to a halt right in front of his dangling feet.

“I’ll bet you’re damn well pleased with yourself.”

Jared doesn’t even open his eyes. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jensen’s voice is calm, but steely. “I’m talking about the way you treated Adam up there. The way you treated everyone.”

“Whatever.”

A crack of knuckles. “Jared, sit your ass up and talk to me like a man, goddamn it.”

Jared blinks one eye open before catapulting up off the hay bale and onto to his feet. It takes a second for the room to stop spinning. He faces Jensen, nose to nose, and is pleased at the reminder that he outmatches him in height. Grins, “Happy now?”

“No. I want you to apologize to Adam. Then I want you to apologize to every other individual at the meeting, including me.”

“Ha! There’s no way I’m doing that.”

“You bet your ass you’re doing it,” says Jensen, jaw set in a line. “And it’d better be the best damn apology of your life, or I swear you’ll be on shit-shovelling duty till your four months is up. Don’t test me, boy.”

Jared clenches his fists. There’s rage stirring in his belly that travels up his throat and explodes. He screams in Jensen’s face,

“Listen, asshole, I don’t _fucking_ belong here! I’m nothing like these people! I’m not _BROKEN_.” There’s anger, real _anger_ , behind his words. He shakes his head, delirious. “Besides, everybody hates me anyway! They think I’m just some city kid who’s got nothing better to do than spend my trust fund money and —”

_WHUMP._

There’s a hard thud to his chest that nearly knocks the wind out of him. Before he can register what’s happening, he’s being strong-armed and shoved up against one of the barn’s support beams. He stares into blazing green eyes and at the forearm across his chest, holding him there. Jensen’s cheeks are red.

“You know what your problem is, Jared? _You. Don’t. Fucking. Listen._ ” He spits the words, each syllable dripping with frustration. “You think people don’t like you because you’re some rich kid from the city? No, dummy. The reason people don’t respect you is because you’re so full of shit you can’t see straight. You’re a goddamn _liar_ , Jared.”

Jared’s eyes widen in shock. He’s never been spoken to like this before. No one’s ever held him accountable, for anything. But it’ll be a cold day in Hell before he lets Jensen see him weak and vulnerable like this. He laughs it off to hide his fear.

“Here’s what you gotta understand,” continues Jensen, arm shaking against Jared’s wild heartbeat. “If you’re gonna be here… if you’re gonna take up _my_ time, you’ve got to _work the program_. Otherwise you’re gonna be sittin' your sweet-ass in a jail cell. And this time it won’t be juvie, boy. It’s _federal_. You understand?” He shoves a little harder against Jared’s chest, threatening him. “You wanna go to prison, Padalecki? Do you even know what happens to smart-mouths like you in prison? They don’t _make it_. That’s what happens.”

Jared blinks, grasping at anything to regain his dignity. Grins, half-hearted. “T-that what happened to you? Iraqi prison? You get made into somebody’s bitch in there?”

He wheezes as Jensen pushes his arm harder against Jared’s chest, really crushing his rib cage now. His face inches closer, an unreadable expression on his face, and speaks in a soft, low voice.

“Your bullshit don’t work on me, Jared. I see you.” He loosens his grip a little, letting him breathe again. “And don’t think for a second that I don’t know what’s in your pocket.”

Jared’s stomach drops.

_No…_

His heart begins to race, but he’s gotta keep in character. Can’t let the mask slip. He paints a smirk on his face and stares Jensen in the eye as he reaches into his pocket and withdraws two more Oxy pills. _His last two_.

Jensen’s eyes don’t leave Jared’s. His voice is cool and measured. “Do yourself a favour for once and crush those. Then wash the powder down the drain with the hose. Understand?”

Jared grins as he toys with the two pills, twirls them around his fingers. In a singsong voice, he teases, “My last two. You want one? I can share…”

“No, I don’t,” says Jensen, unimpressed. “I want you to get rid of them so you can start your recovery.”

Jared clenches his jaw, stuck for what to say next. So, instead, he purses his lips and stares at Jensen while he pops both pills into his mouth and swallows.

Jensen shakes his head. He releases his ironclad grip and sighs, “Get your shit together, Padalecki,” before leaving Jared alone in the barn with the rest of the animals.


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER SIX

_____________________

It’s the longest night of Jared’s life.

He’s high as a motherfucker, four pills swimming in his system. But less a fun high than an _oh-fuck-don’t-let-me-overdose_ high. The way his brain lags and his stomach lurches terrifies him — half afraid of upchucking and wasting the last of his supply, half afraid of what happens if he _doesn_ ’t get sick and wakes up with nothing. No more meds to help him cope with all this shit. The farm. The people. The sadness.

It hurts his stomach so bad he think he might die.

But the physical pain doesn’t compare to the utter _despair_ he feels as a result of the tongue-lashing by Jensen Ackles. Even through his brain fog he can hear Jensen’s voice, clear as day, slicing through him like knives.

 _You’re a_ liar _, Jared._

_(I know, I know. Believe me, I know.)_

_Your bullshit don’t work on me, Jared. I see you._

_(No, please. Anything but that... Don’t look, don’t look…)_

It’s unbearable, the dialogue in his head. He nearly screams to shut it down. Passes out from exhaustion before Jeff comes up to bed.

Plunges into darkness.

~~~

The next morning, he fakes stomach flu to get him out of chores. Miraculously, he’d woken up from his Oxy-coma without the embarrassment of an overdose. Last night was the closest he’s ever come to one.

And now, as feared, he’s got nothing.

No pills, no medication. Not a scrap of Vicodin or even Tylenol 3 to help him cope.

He’s on his own.

_Panic-panic-panic. Deny-deny-deny._

Doc and Beto take turns checking on him, bringing him chicken broth to sip and soda water to settle his stomach. Jared might even appreciate the gestures if he didn’t feel so goddamn close to the brink. Fear is worse than fake-flu.

It’s mid-morning when reality begins to set in. When his heart starts to race and his veins crave their fix. Twice, he runs to the toilet because his stomach threatens to revolt and twice he’s left with nausea and false alarms. Crawls back into bed and buries himself in his warm grave, the faint tinge of fabric softener making him sick.

His mind races. Wondering where he can find a connection in this town. Somebody, _somewhere_ , must be able to hook him up. Ponders desperately about how he might break into the safe in Beto’s office to retrieve his cell phone with his D.C. dealers. They’d know someone nearby. Flash enough cash and he’ll have all the Oxy he needs in a matter of hours.

_Fuck-fuck-fuck._

It hurts too much to move. Somehow, he falls asleep again, the heavy press of a phantom limb to his chest.

The next twenty-four hours don’t exist.


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER SEVEN

_____________________

Oxy is one helluva drug.

It gets inside you. Sinks down past your arteries. Slithers around your bloodstream. Soaks into your bones. Before you know it, your body thinks it’s been there all along. Thinks it can’t survive without it. Becomes a part of you.

And when you let it dry up. It gets pissed.

Withdrawal feels like a magnet tugging ten thousand serrated knives through your veins. It sucks you soulless. Bleeds you dry. Hurts like a motherfucker.

That’s nothing compared to what goes on inside your head.

Jared is thirty-three hours into the worst withdrawal of his life. He’s already sweated through three sets of sheets, giving the mattress a perma-damp sheen. Clammy like his skin. Thankfully, Jeff’s bunking with Rush and Adam for the night so he doesn’t catch fake flu. It leaves Jared to throw up in peace — _four times_ so far, stomach roiling with bile and drug gunk. Nearly shits himself twice but makes it just in time. So fucking miserable he wants to die.

_Got to get out of here._

It's just past midnight and the farm's asleep. Perfect time to make a run for it. He's desperate to get back to D.C. — back to his connection, his friends, his enablers. Got to get back _now_ , or he won’t make it.

Between dry-heaves, Jared hoists open his bedroom window, hobbles down the slanted roof that hangs over the back porch, and drops down into the garden below, crushing tulips and day lilies with his bare feet. Their perfume hits his nostrils and he heaves again, upchucking stomach bile into the potting soil. Wipes the slime from his mouth and saunters forward across the grass, one shaky step after another on his way down towards the barn. Just beyond the pasture is a fence he can hop and then drag ass until he hits highway. Hitch his way into town, get his head right, and hop a semi headed East before the sun comes up. Run away till his probation runs out. Then call Dad for more cash.

It’s a foolproof plan.

His head spins so fast he can barely see straight, so it catches him off guard when he eventually knocks up against wood siding. Realizes where he is and edges along the barn and around the corner, facing the pasture. It’s pitch black, save for the stars, and there’s no sound but crickets and hammer-pounding in his head. He stumbles forward. Just a few more yards until he hops the fence, then it's just a straight-shot across the field and into the forest…

“Goin’ somewhere?”

Jared whips around, an unexpected voice shattering the night’s quiet.

Jensen Ackles is leaning at the edge of the barn under the moonlight, picking casually at his fingernails. A double-barrel shotgun leans next to him.

He’s the last person Jared wants interrupting him right now.

“None of your business,” Jared groans, stomach roiling from the sudden movement. He turns back toward the fence, saunters forward, head spinning and disoriented.

“You’re right. Guess it isn’t,” Jensen answers, coolly. “So long.”

Jared grits his teeth. _Ignore him_. _Keep going. You’re almost free._ He makes it several more feet until he reaches the fence enclosing the pasture. Puts one foot on the wire and mentally warns his stomach in anticipation of pulling himself up and over.

“Wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Jared shuts his eyes tight, willing the voice away. “Fuck off. I’m leaving.”

He doesn’t have to look around to know Jensen shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

The fence wire swings like a pendulum under his feet as he pulls himself up and puts his full weight on it. He’s about to hoist himself over when a flurry of movement in the distance distracts him.

 _AWOOOOOO_.

A blood-curling howl strikes terror into his bones. Jared ricochets backwards, heart beating and head spinning, and thumps down onto the grass. Lands hard on his ass, stomach churning. He focuses his eyes to see beyond the pasture ahead.

In the distance, he glimpses two yellow eyes and silver fur glistening in the moonlight.

_It’s a wolf. An actual Call-of-the-Wild WOLF. What the —_

“Oh, that’s Hester,” says Jensen from where he's leaning. “She comes around every Summer, tryna tear into the sheep. So if you wanna run away, I’d try a different route.”

From his spot on the ground, Jared whips his head back towards the barn, furious. “A wolf?! Are you _fucking_ kidding me?”

Even from thirty feet away, he can hear the shift of Jensen’s cocky smirk. “Still think where you’re headed is none of my business?”

_Son-of-a-bitch bastard._

Jared clenches his fists. As he slowly pushes himself to his feet, his hands tremble from the withdrawal and from the wild, feral animal he’d almost run straight toward. He digs his fingernails into his palms to try to centre himself. Nearly breaks the skin. Doesn’t care. He’s too light-headed to even think straight. Mutters, quiet desperation in his voice,

“I’m — I’m sick. I gotta get outta here. See a doctor.”

Jensen takes a few steps forward, balancing the shotgun over his shoulder. “Lemme guess… Cold sweats, convulsions, smell of vomit that follows you like a damn shadow?”

Jared whimpers. He can’t stomach the word "vomit" right now.

“Well, Padalecki, it looks like I caught you in the early stages of an oxycodone detox. ‘Bout thirty hours in?”

Jared dry heaves and then spits up. His insides are mush. “Thirty-three.”

“Hm. Still haven’t seen the worst of it, then.” Jensen purses his lips then beckons Jared forward. “Well, come on, I got something that’ll help.”

“N-” Jared starts to protest, but then dry heaves before he can get the ‘ _no’_ out.

Jensen sighs. “Get your ass up here, Padalecki. ‘Less you wanna spend the night in the field with Hester.”

Fifty-four baby steps later, Jared plunks himself down on the ground against a hay bale just inside the barn doors. Jensen disappears across the lawn for a few minutes but returns soon enough. He knows because a pair of bow-legged knees and a freckled hand with a glass of fizzy water appears in front of his face.

Jared waves it off. “Can’t. Gonna puke.”

“You’re gonna puke no matter what you do. Just sip on it. Get your fluids up.”

Jared groans and takes the glass. Holds it in his hand, which shakes as he watches Jensen drag a hay bail over to the middle of the barn doors near to Jared’s. They sit in silence, gazing out into the night. Twice, Jared’s dry heaves break the cricket-silence, but he manages not to throw up. Small victories.

After a few minutes, Jensen shifts. Picks up his shotgun and holds it across his lap.

“You gonna put me out of my misery?” groans Jared, nodding at the double-barrel.

Jensen chuckles. “Not tonight. No, Hester’s on the move. Look.”

In the distance, Jared glimpses a shadowy movement in the field. Then, a shimmer of silver fur in the moonlight as the wolf posts up at the edge of the pasture.

“Sneaky bitch,” murmurs Jensen. “Thinks I can’t see her there. Pulled the same shit last year. Killed four sheep.”

He clicks the action on his gun to scare her a little.

Jared is drenched in sweat from his head to his toes. Flashes of hot and cold make him shiver. He shakes his head. “Can’t believe you — you were gonna let me walk right into her…”

“I had my shotgun. Would'a used it if she moved on you. I’m rusty though... Might'a got you in the ass. On accident, of course.” He grins.

_Accident, right._

"So, is this what they got you doing every night? Watchdog duty?" asks Jared, trying not to puke. "Or are your only friends four-legged ones?”

Jensen glances over at him. Decides not to engage, for once. It only bothers Jared a little bit.

They sit in the quiet for a couple minutes until, at last, Jensen answers.

“I like it out here. It’s peaceful.” He brushes his thumb over the smooth butt of his gun. “‘Sides, I’m the only one around here who knows their way around a double-barrel.”

Jared’s eye catches the way Jensen’s thumb moves, like he’s petting it. Must have fallen in love with killing machines in the army. The idea makes his stomach roil. “What’ve you got a second amendment fetish or something?”

Jensen shrugs, his fingers tightening around the barrels. “Something like that.”

Where Jared comes from, no one carries guns except the Secret Service. No one even _knows_ about guns. “I think guns are stupid. And gun-owners? Even stupider.”

“You wouldn’t be sayin’ that if you had a jaw full of wolf teeth sunk into your leg. You’d be begging me to put a bullet in her.”

Jared scoffs, which makes his whole body shiver. He’s _freezing_ all of a sudden. Teeth chattering like crazy. “S-s-shit, for someone with such a hard-on for animals, it sounds like you don’t mind killing them.”

There’s a shift in the air. Jensen’s shoulders tense.

“Killing’s a matter of survival,” he says, his mind far away. “Gotta do whatever it takes to get clean air in your lungs, get that next heart beat. Even if it don’t always seem fair.”

Jared squirms. "What’s that, a lesson or something?”

He glances over and watches Jensen’s eyes moving, surveilling a distant Hester.

“No lesson. I’m just sayin'… life’s about choices. About following your instincts. Kinda like you did earlier, when you stayed here instead of running away.”

Jared huffs a laugh. His head pounds from the reverberations. “Not like I had a _choice_. Just a gut reaction. Get ripped to shreds? Or sit here with you like a dick?”

“And what’s your gut telling you now?”

Jared clutches at his belly, which is wriggling like worms. “That I’m gonna fucking hurl.”

He crawls a few steps outside and throws up around the edge of the barn doors, just out of sight. Wipes his mouth for what must be the fifteenth time that night and leans back against the bale of hay again. Slowly, but surely, he picks up the fizzy water Jensen brough him and takes a shaky sip.

“You just gotta make it through the night, kid,” says Jensen, as Jared’s brain begins to drift in and out of consciousness. “One night and the rest of your life.”


	9. Chapter 9

**~ ACT II ~**

CHAPTER EIGHT

_____________________

To say Jared wakes up, face smushed against a hay bale, sweating and shaking in the fetal position, isn’t entirely accurate. Waking up implies he’d fallen asleep at all. Not for lack of trying though. Other than a pill — just _one hit_ — to make it all go away, there’s nothing Jared wants more than to drift off. Forever. To slip away and sleep through convulsions and crippling nausea. He’s desperate for rest. And he keeps getting close. _Really_ close. But, like clockwork, with every two minute mark comes a monstrous jolt that rips through his body like a live-wire, making him shimmy-shake and jerk around.

It’s a fever-dream nightmare. Body horror.

At sunrise (the rooster, Ol’ Manny, is much louder from the barn), between side-splitting gut wrenches and caustic hot flashes, a strong hand pulls at his shoulder.

“Come on. Up you get.”

Jared winces, clutching his belly. This time, he may have found the perfect position, one where his legs don’t shake and his guts don’t swirl. He shuts his eyes and pretends he can’t hear the gravelly voice of Jensen Ackles, slicing through his ears like boxcutters.

“I ain’t kidding,” says Jensen, soft yet firm. “Guys’ll be down here for chores soon. Don’t want ‘em seeing you like this.”

 _Resistance is futile_. Jared can scarcely stand up.

With effort, he manages to push himself to his knees, head spinning and completely out of sorts. Feels the warm weight of Jensen’s hand wrap around his elbow and pull him gently to his feet.

“Let’s go,” says Jensen, after Jared upchucks in the grass again. He puts an arm around Jared’s back, holding him upright.

Reeling and gut-roiling, Jared collapses into the sturdy hold of Jensen’s shoulder, sweat poring off him like he’s just run a half-marathon in Hell. It’s against every instinct he’s got — to let his guard down, to lean on another — but he has no fight left.

Oxy detox is the devil incarnate.

And Jensen is there. He’s the _only_ one there.

“Where we going?” mutters Jared, mouth dragging spit along Jensen's T-shirt sleeve. Despite the stars in his eyes, he can feel his own feet stagger-dragging across the grass.

“My place. Told Doc I’m takin’ you there till this is over.”

His stomach sinks. Brain gets sad. “Doc knows?”

Jensen hums an affirmative.

“And — and the guys?”

“They know you’ve got stomach flu and that’s it. And they’re only gonna know what you choose to tell ‘em.”

Maybe it’s the dehydration or the special kind of vulnerability that comes with puking your guts up, but it makes Jared mumble things like, “I’m such a joke. Can’t even do rehab right…”

The grip on Jared’s shoulder tightens, almost imperceptibly, finger-pads pressing into flesh. Feels good amidst all the bad.

Without his regular dose of dopamine, the deepest part of Jared's brain consumes itself with the sad fact that he’s an embarrassment to himself and to the rest of the guys, who did the right thing and got clean before they arrived here.

Jared’s always done things the wrong way.

~~~

The world moves in and out of consciousness as the two of them, at last, cross the threshold of the little cabin at the edge of the farm. Jensen closes the door behind them. Through half-lidded eyes, Jared looks around.

It’s modest living quarters — a single room with a queen bed, one chair, a table (upon which sits a few potted cacti), a small kitchenette and ensuite bathroom. There’s barely room enough for one, let alone the giant cloud of ego and antagonism that fogs around the two of them.

“You good?” Jensen asks, as he starts to pull away, leaving Jared without an anchor.

“Mm hmm.” Jared’s knees wobble like a newborn foal, but he finds his footing. “Light… evil.”

Jensen draws the curtains so the rising sun won’t bludgeon Jared’s eyes.

“Strip down and take a shower,” he orders, pointing toward the bathroom door. “You’ve got vomit all over you.”

 _Take a shower_. It’s the absolute last thing Jared wants to do. But he knows when Jensen gets that stubborn bite to his voice, he’s immovable. Like a motherfucking _mountain_. Rock solid, hard-edged. So Jared staggers toward the ensuite. Shuts the door and nearly collapses back against it when, suddenly, it opens again.

“Door stays open a crack, no matter what.”

Jared winces, too head-sick to protest. “You want to watch me shower, perv?”

“No, I wanna make sure you don’t hurt yourself, smart-ass.” Jensen reaches in and punches on the shower faucet, gives Jared his best _don’t make me kick down my own bathroom door, Padalecki_ glare, then retreats back into the main room.

“Wanna watch me take a shit too?”

“Nothing I haven’t seen before in the army.”

Jensen always has to have the last word. _Prick_.

Once alone (with the stupid door open a crack), Jared peels off his shirt, muscles screaming with phantom tissue-bruises, and strips down the rest of the way, wincing with the sandpaper scratch of fabric on skin. As the steam starts to rise above the shower curtain, Jared cuts his losses and steps into the water.

“ _Aughhh._ ”

Every drop of water feels like an acid knife piercing his skin. It’s pain he’s never felt before — at once dull and searing, a million times per second, like rusted 12-gauge needles. It’s ravishing and violating and he can’t fucking help himself: swollen tears drown his eyes and throaty wails wrack his windpipe. His slipshod body writhes and twitches, curling in on itself in agony.

Makes death-wish whimpers.

He’s just about ready to end it all, to melt into the porcelain and get sucked down the drain, when he hears footsteps. When a strong hand draws the curtain back and shuts off the water for him.

_Don't look, please... Can't see me like this._

Humiliation overwhelms him. He can’t even imagine how pathetic he looks standing in the tub, arms and chest all crumpled and collapsed in on himself, bones jutting out, moaning and groaning like he’s dying. Feels like he is. He so badly _wants to_. But Jensen, unfazed, extends a hand and helps him step out of the shower. Grabs a fresh towel and smooths it through Jared’s sopping wet hair while he weeps before draping it around his shoulders. Exits the bathroom without another word.

Jared spends a few moments composing himself, hoping to high heaven he’ll never have to relive that ordeal. He dries off as best he can, patting his searing skin with the soft towel. Dabs at his bloodshot eyes and blows his nose to clear his sinuses. Empties his bladder, a wave of nausea hitting him at the sight of how dark and syrupy his urine looks.

_God, I’m so fucked up. So unbelievably fucked up._

And the sadness of it all hits him like a kick to the chest. Tendrils of melancholia snake through his synapses, snatching hold of his childhood, his loneliness, a life devoid of meaning, of love. A black cloud descends on his brain.

There are voices from the next room. He peeks out of the bathroom, squinting into a beam of sunlight coming through a crack in the front door.

Jensen’s just outside, talking with someone — Doc most likely — in low tones. A moment later, he comes back inside and shuts the door. There are two plates in his hands, covered in tinfoil. He catches eyes with Jared, standing brokenly at the bathroom door, towel held around his waist.

“Breakfast,” says Jensen, setting both plates on the table. “Sit down and eat. I’ll find you some clothes.” He moves from the table to his dresser, rooting around the drawers.

Jared lingers in the doorway, watching Jensen paw through folded shirts and jeans, finger-picking around neatly rolled up socks. For a fleeting and completely insane moment, Jared’s mind wanders to what sort of underwear he’s got in that drawer — boxers, briefs, boxer-briefs…

“Here,” says Jensen after a minute, handing him a folded up stack of clothes. “Should fit okay.”

Jared takes the pile and steps back into the bathroom. Drops the towel and slips on the clothes hand picked for him — black boxer shorts, a pair of light cotton sweatpants, and an old U.S. Army tee with remarkably soft fabric. Doesn’t feel like a cheese-grater on his skin. He revels in the softness for a moment, fully expecting to have everything soaked through with detox sweat in ten minutes' time. He steps back into the main room, fully outfitted.

_Jensen Ackles haute couture._

“Looks alright,” says Jensen from the kitchenette, throwing a cursory glance at Jared. He pours them each a cup of coffee and takes a seat at the table.

Jared shrugs. He’s _shy_ all of a sudden. Feels vulnerable in Jensen’s clothes, in his cabin, defences down. “Thought your stuff might hang off me. I’m so damn skinny these days...”

“That’s the addiction. Sucks the meat off the bone,” says Jensen, taking a slurp of coffee. “You’ll get your strength up again.”

Jared nods, fastening his finger and thumb around his own wrist until their tips touch. He’s wasting away, no question.

“Sit down and eat something.”

Jared shuffles on his feet. “I, um, don’t think I can. If I see any trace of grits on that plate, I’m gonna hurl.”

Jensen raises an eyebrow. He removes the tinfoil from both of their plates. “That look like grits to you?”

The smell of _euphoria_ hits Jared’s nostrils and makes his mouth water: on his plate is a homemade egg McMuffin. He hasn’t felt hungry for a day and a half. Not until now.

Jared’s eyes widen as he makes his way to the table and picks up the sandwich — a succulent slice of American cheese, a fried egg dripping with grease, and two slabs of fresh bacon on an English muffin, slathered with butter and mayonnaise. He takes a bite and his eyes nearly roll back in his head, it tastes so good. Just what the doctor ordered.

Jensen chews, amused. “When I was in withdrawal, the only thing I could stomach was greasy food. Craved it. Like my body was tryna overcompensate for the booze.”

Jared knows what he means. He’s two huge bites into his breakfast and feeling a bizarre rush of euphoria amidst hot and cold flashes.

“So,” he says, mouth full, “you detoxed after you got out of the army?”

“Three times,” says Jensen, between bites. “Second time was pure hell. When I relapsed, I didn’t think I could go through it all again… the withdrawal, gettin' clean.” He shakes his head. “Amazing, the abuse the human body can survive.”

Jared hums, smacking his lips and licking his greasy fingers. “Did anyone help you through it?”

Jensen stops mid-chew and, for a split second, flicks his brilliant green eyes up to meet Jared’s. There’s undeniable pain inside those eyes, but he quickly reverts back to therapist-mode, dodging the question. Puts the mask back on and takes another bite.

“Checked myself into rehab," he says, through a mouthful. "Drinking became a goddamn chore. I was too tired to do it anymore.”

Jared considers those words and, after a moment, asks,

“Do you think I’m too tired to do it anymore?”

Jensen surveys him carefully. “Dunno. That’s on you. Some people make it on their first go round. But most people… well, most people take a few tries to get it right.”

Jared pauses, softens his voice. “Do you think I’m a _first try_ person or a _few tries_ person?”

The silence overwhelms until —

“Padalecki, I think you’ve got one clean day under your belt. Try to make it two.”

They eat in silence until they’re both finished their last bite. After that, Jensen leans back in his chair. “You enjoy that?”

“Fuck yes,” hums Jared, licking grease from his fingertips.

“Good,” grins Jensen, glancing at his watch. “Cause you’re gonna see it again in about twenty minutes.” He slaps his knee and gets up, clears the plates from the table, and rolls the aluminum foil into a ball before tossing it into the trash.

Jared shakes his head and shrugs. “Worth it.”

~~~

It’s hot. Hotter than the heart of West Virginia and Jared is sweating buckets in a cabin on the edge of Jacob’s Ladder. He’s lying in the middle of Jensen’s bed in the middle of the day (somehow he’d found himself there, his memory’s kind of fucked right now), tossing and turning, while the man himself sits at the table doing god knows what… crossword puzzles, maybe. The warm breeze wafts through the open window. Every now and then it catches Jared’s skin and he shivers like he’s just crawled out of an ice bath. These temperature changes are giving him whiplash.

Jensen scrunches his nose. “What’s a four-letter word for ‘assist’?”

Jared groans. He’s barely conscious, got a head-splitting migraine, but after three hours of listening to his own ragged breathing and tummy-rumbling he welcomes the distraction. “Hint?”

“Starts with A-B.”

“Abet.”

“Hm,” says Jensen, scratching at the crossword with his pencil.

He resumes his puzzle without bugging Jared again. After awhile, the silence becomes suffocating again. Jared needs a diversion.

“You don’t have chores to do today? What about the horses? Thought you said Sadie gets weird when she’s stuck inside.”

“My day off. Jeff’s got it,” says Jensen, not looking up from his puzzle. “Was gonna go into town, but instead I get to babysit your sorry ass.”

Jared’s cheeks flush. Hates that he's such a burden.

“Sorry,” he says, sheepish. Pause, shake, shimmy. “If it’s any consolation… I’m having a worse time than you.”

“Don’t doubt it.” Jensen shakes his head. “I wouldn’t wish what you’re going through on my worst enemy.”

“Here I thought I was your worst enemy…”

Jensen lets out a chuckle. “Not even close. There’s a couple Iraqi prison guards ahead of you in line.”

_Holy shit._

“You - you were actually in prison? In Iraq?”

“Mm hmm.” Jensen adjusts his grip on the puzzle book, pretends to focus on it as normal.

Jared can see right through him. He shivers. “What happened?”

Jensen squirms in his chair, gets all hard-edged and stony. Even more so than usual. “We were moving into a village outside of Baghdad… Me and a few of my guys got ambushed.” He clears his throat, readjusts his posture. “I, uh — I can’t really talk about it.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Both.” Jensen looks up and catches eyes with Jared. There’s a long pin drop silence before he replies, quiet. “What people back here don’t get is that, unless you were over there... unless you were in it, you'll never understand.”

On the most superficial of levels, Jared can imagine what he means. Being disconnected. But what he can’t imagine is the stuff Jensen and other vets must hold inside — the nightmares they keep living after Hell, walking the earth like ghosts. The despair of it makes Jared’s stomach roil. He pushes himself off the bed with shaky arms and runs to the bathroom, vomiting into the toilet for the sixth time that afternoon. Hugs around the ivory throne like worship. Stays put, lays his head on the cool tile floor for awhile.

Lets himself sink into oblivion.

_A-S-S-I-S-T_

_A-B-E-T_

_A-C-K-L-E-S..._

~~~

When Jared comes-to again, it’s pitch black. He takes a minute to get his bearings. Eventually figures out he’s back in Jensen’s bed, sweat soaking through the sheets. Cricket sounds drift through the open window and there’s a soft _whrrrr_ of a fan blowing air around the room. Jared shivers. He’s beyond groggy and head-sick. His brain, his _eyes_ , throb with intense pain.

There are voices — a cacophony — inside his head, wailing and yammering so fast that Jared can’t understand them. They all blend together in woebegone gibberish. Gobble-dee gook.

He swears he’s going mad. Whines and moans escape his lips as his bones shake and rattle — hot, cold, sweat, shiver, still, spasm. His entire being vibrates, except instead of pins and needles, it’s iron on anvil. He curls in on himself, groaning and wishing for death. A dark shadow appears in front of his face. It kneels at the edge of the bed. A soft voice hushes,

“S’okay.”

Jared’s head is spinning, _splitting_.

“I’m _alone_ ,” he sobs. The unmitigated wail of despair. Of longing. Of loss.

“Not alone,” coos the voice. “Right here.”

Jared reaches out with slippery fingers in the dark, grabs a fistful of cotton fabric and pulls it close, tugging a body with it. Can’t see a damn thing but can feel warm breath on his face. Someone’s there. And when his eyes adjust — two evergreen eyes gaze at him with something like compassion.

“ _Please_ ,” Jared winces, twitching like there’s a demon inside him. If he could just have _one hit_. One pill to get him right again. To dig him out of this hell-hole. He pulls the body closer until he feels a warm exhale on his lips. “I need… I need it. I can’t do this… please, take me somewhere I can get it, I — _”_

“Can’t help you there, kid,” hushes the voice, whisper-soft. Feels it. It’s so close. “But I’m here. Not gonna leave.”

As Jared slips away, a strong hand grips his own. He won’t let go. Won’t let go all through the night.

Jared won’t remember.


	10. Chapter 10

CHAPTER NINE

_____________________

The next day (or at least what he thinks is the next day — he could have been asleep for weeks, for all he knows), Jared awakens to the sound of the rooster’s crow.

_Ol’ Manny. Annoying-as-shit alarm clock._

As a wisp of pale pink light peeks through the cabin curtains, he blinks one eye open. Sunrise. Which means he made it through what he hopes will be the worst night of his life. Thank god he can’t remember it. His brain’s all whacked out.

He takes a few moments to set himself straight, nuzzle into the pillow, stretch his bones a little. Everything hurts. Like he was thrown around a boxing ring then run over by a semi. It’s a body ache that eclipses his worst hangover by a thousand.

But he’s alive. He made it to the other side. Can feel the air in his lungs, the beat of his heart.

There’s an insistent press from his bladder, so he drags himself to the side of the bed, inching his way along the mattress until he peers over the edge and sees —

Flat on his back and fast asleep on a thin army mat beside the bed… Jensen Ackles.

Jared blinks, surveying him from the mattress above. Jensen looks… almost _worried_ in his sleep. There’s a subtle crease between his eyebrows, a perceptible line of stress. But, even so, Jared can’t help but notice how much softer Jensen seems like this. Vulnerable, fragile. With a 5am shadow and a hand curled into his chest.

As Jared’s eyes scan downward, he swallows a lump in his throat as he notices the bulge in Jensen’s sweatpants. Morning wood.

And he can’t look away. Because he is well aware that his own dick hasn’t been, well, _that_ hard since before he started popping OxyContin. Can’t even remember the last time he’d had a hard-on like that. Hell, he hasn’t even really felt the urge for sex in… god knows how long. There's never been any pleasure in it anyway.

But there’s something undeniable, something virile, about seeing another man like this — about seeing Jensen like this — that gets his weakened heart racing. That makes his belly flutter and his brain short-circuit and, before he knows it, he’s fighting an intense rush through his body and —

_Oh god, what the… what the —_

Out of nowhere, Jared’s _coming_ — gonads pumping, semen shooting through his dick like a water gun, soaking his shorts with a gush of saline. No buildup, no warning. Just a stuttery, lacklustre orgasm seeping through him, leaving him weak and weird. It’s over before he knew what’d hit him.

“Fucking _shit.”_

Jensen stirs on the floor mat at the sound of Jared’s cursing. He squints his eyes open and looks up, catching sight of the humiliating wet patch on Jared’s borrowed boxers.

“Piss or jizz?”

“What?”

Jensen scrunches his nose. “Don’t tell me you don’t know the difference…”

“Umm…” says Jared, fumbling stupidly at the sheets, trying to untangle his trembling body. He’s shaken to the core, feels like his bones are made of Jell-O. All he wants is to get to the bathroom and hide himself. He steps down off the bed. “I, uh, I dunno what you’re — _OOF._ ”

Jared loses his balance, tripping over and nearly crushing the half-asleep Jensen.

“ _Jesus_ ,” curses the innocent, throwing his arms up to protect his squishy parts from Jared’s flailing limbs.

“Sorry,” murmurs Jared as he stumbles into the bathroom and shuts the door. He takes a few deep breaths before pulling his shorts down to alleviate the sticky mess. Wipes himself off and then pisses in the toilet, flushing it down.

He’s wobbly in the knees, his orgasm having surged through him with no buildup, no warning. Not good, not bad, just _quick_. His cheeks blush hot.

_What the fuck?_

A moment later, there’s a single knock from the other side and the grumble of, “Door open. Protocol.”

Jared sighs and then turns the doorknob again, grabbing a towel to hide his bottom half. Jensen’s across the room now, digging in his underwear drawer, hair stuck up in every which way.

“Here,” says Jensen, one eye closed in half-sleep as he tosses Jared a fresh pair — boxer-briefs this time. “Spontaneous ejaculation. Right on schedule. During withdrawal, your body kinda runs away on you. Craves good feelings. You’ll prolly jizz a couple more times by breakfast.”

Jared’s mouth hangs agape. Just hearing the straight-laced Jensen Ackles talk about _jizz_ and _ejaculation_ like it’s the freakin’ weather…

He grips the clean boxer-briefs. “Er, what should I do with the other pair?”

“Leave ‘em. I’ll keep them to remind me of you, Padalecki.” He grins, then rolls his eyes. “I’ll throw ‘em in the fire later.”

Jared bows his head. “Kay. Sorry.”

Jensen throws him a _no worries_ shrug. “Just remember this in about”—he checks his watch—“forty minutes, when you wanna kill me for making you stack hay. Now get back up to the ranch and getv dressed.” He claps, an eager smile on his face. “After breakfast, you’re comin’ with me to the barn for chores.”

Jared winces, stares at him in disbelief.

Jensen just shrugs.

“Sorry, kid, recovery starts now.”

~~~

Jared soaks his shorts three times during morning chores. Even though he’s hanging out with smelly animals, filling up feedbags and cleaning shit-covered pens, he can’t help but get a hair-trigger erection with every touch — every graze of sheep’s wool, or brush of warm wind on his bare arms. It’s like his pituitary gland’s being held at gunpoint and his body’s desperate to empty every last drop of bounty from it. An ill-conceived effort to replicate being high. Chemistry’s all out of whack.

After his first lunch at the farm house in three days (Jared passes on the corn chowder, opting to nibble at some buttered cornbread instead), Jensen instructs the boys to hop on the tractor-trailer. Rush drives. It’s anything but a leisurely trip. Especially with Adam giving him the cold shoulder. Not that Jared can blame him. He’s still working up the nerve to apologize.

“Thought this was supposed to be a _hay ride_ ,” mutters Jared, clutching at his splitting head as he and the boys toss bales over the side, peppering the grazing field with straw-stacks.

“Yeah, and I’m the Prophet Mo-hammad,” laughs Jeff, shaking his head. “When’re you gonna learn that Ackles is a goddamn sadist?”

Jared huffs a laugh, the muscles in his arms aching even when he’s not tossing hay bales. No question Jensen’s tough. But somewhere in Jared’s muddled memories is compassion in the form of evergreen eyes and the comforting grasp of a strong hand in the dark. The whole thing is more than a little curious.

“What’s his deal anyway?” says Jared, fighting through the migraine. “I mean, does he have a wife or kids or anything?”

There’s sure as hell no room for a family in that cabin.

Jeff shrugs. "Keeps to himself, mostly. One night I got him talking enough to tell me a bit about his service, but that’s about as far as we got.”

Jared chews at his bottom lip. Every bump of the tractor feels like the hammer of Thor, jostling his aching joints. “Do you think something happened to him in Iraq? Like, more than the usual?”

Jeff tosses a hay bale over the side of the trailer. “Gotta be a reason why he runs such a tight ship. Guy keeps everything in real close check. Won’t give up on nobody for nothin.’”

Jared hums in agreement. He chews on a piece of straw to keep his mind off the Oxy-urge. But it doesn’t help reign in a budding new addiction — trying to figure out what’s behind the tough exterior of one ex-army, stable hand named Ackles.

~~~

For the next three nights, Jared stays in his own room, back up on the second floor of Jacob’s Ladder. He doesn’t sleep, not much anyway. Too much tossing and turning and leg fidgeting for that. But he tries to get his mind right. Starts to focus on the little things — the rhythm of Jeff’s soft, snore-breathing from the next bed over, the _tick-tick-tick_ of the clock on the wall, the _chirr-urrps_ of birds at dawn. It’s been years, but Jared can finally hear in three-dimensional sound.

It’s kind of beautiful.

On his fifth sober morning, he doesn’t wake up in an anxious state, desperate to pop pills and find the closest stash, planning out his dope schedule for the day. Instead, he takes his time, lounges in bed and savours the dull aches and pains — of weak muscles and upset stomachs. Because it means he’s alive. He’s living. He’s _clean_.

Heads down to breakfast with the boys and finds enough guts to stutter through an apology for how he’d been acting in group. How he’d been a stubborn prick and it was (mostly) because he’d been high on pain pills — smuggled ‘em in and sabotaged his recovery. How he feels like the biggest idiot on the planet.

The boys, he learned, are the forgiving and forgetting kind.

~~~

The next few days pass in a hangover blur and, pretty soon, he and the guys have swept the barn clean of rogue straw, piled it up in the corner, and tidied up the stables. Jared catches Jensen here and there — at group, at supper, in passing during work hours — but he’s never had any time alone with him. Not like their time in the cabin, when, for a few precious hours, Jensen’s focus had been singular. Ever since then, Jared’s been feeling less of an urge to punch Jensen in the face.

Jared hadn’t been used to it. The attention. And now he sort of misses it. Craves it, _affection_ , from a man he barely knows. And from an ex-military jackass, no less. It’s not entirely unlike his patterns back home — chasing after hot guys, being a prick-tease, relishing the rush of feeling wanted. But this feels different somehow. Like he wants Jensen’s approval. To earn his respect, for real.

Probably just a temporary glitch in his hard-wiring. Jared never gets attached to anyone.

It’s a mindfuck — the way sobriety, the twelve steps, turns everything you thought you knew upside down.

_One day at a time._

Jared’s the last one to leave the barn that afternoon (Secretariat needed a second brushing) and, when he finally steps outside, he’s greeted by a chorus of whoops and hollers, clapping and whistling. He looks up — all the recovery boys are there, applauding and smiling at him.

“One week clean!” bellows Rush over the applause. “Great fuckin’ job.”

He gets pats on the back by Billy-Bob and Jeff, congratulation shakes by Bobby-Jon. Jared blushes, shrinking under the praise, “Nothing to be proud of…”

“Bullshit,” says Adam, clapping him on the shoulder. “You’re doin’ it, man. Toughest thing in the world and you’re fuckin' doin’ it.”

Jared looks around, catches eyes with Jensen, who stands near the edge of the crowd, a serene expression on his face. He nods once at Jared, tipping his ball cap in salute, then pipes up,

“How ‘bout I drive the trailer down to the swimming hole so you boys can celebrate?”

The group erupts in hoots and hollers. It’s hotter than Satan’s house cat and everyone’s up for a river dip.

Jensen half-smiles, a rarity for him.

Jared thinks he should do it more.

~~~

The swimming hole is a welcome respite from the 105 degree West Virginia sun. One by one, they take turns jumping off the rock face, or swinging like Tarzan on the rope that traverses the middle of the river. The initial _crash_ of water on skin hits Jared like knives, but it’s euphoric somehow. Ripples lapping at his thighs, the cool liquid breaking against his armpits, the pressure engulfing his entire body. Seventh day clean and he’s starting to remember how _water_ feels.

Everyone’s having a blast (Rush is teaching Jeff how to do flips off the rope swing) and Jared can’t remember the last time he’s just had fun like this. No drugs, no booze, no brain-haze. Just good, clean fun. Sober living.

Jensen sits on the side of the embankment, leaning back against a rock, watching the guys, dry as a bone. Like a moth to a flame, Jared’s drawn towards him. On his next trip up to the top of the rock face, he takes a detour over to where Jensen’s sitting.

“You’re not going in?”

Jensen keeps his eyes on the swimming hole. “Don’t care for water much.”

“You’re scared?”

He flashes Jared look. “I’m not _scared_.”

“Then jump in… I dare you.”

Jensen rolls his eyes. “Ain’t my thing, Padalecki.”

“Ooh, last name. I’m in _trouble_.”

Jensen stands up on the rock face, a glint in his eye. “You will be if you don’t get your sweet-ass gone."

A devilish spark rips through Jared and he can only smirk as he reaches forward and yanks at Jensen’s arm, tugging him off-balance and towards the water. Jensen is too quick, too combat-trained, however, to fall for such a sloppy attempt. He shoots his foot forward to catch himself and then pushes Jared straight off the rock face and into the swimming hole before Jared even knows what hit him.

When his head reemerges from the water, the rest of the guys are laughing their asses off. Jensen stands towering over the river, triumphant.

“Don’t mess with me, Padalecki,” he grins, green eyes glinting. “You’ll always lose.”

Jared rolls his eyes and sinks under the water.


	11. Chapter 11

CHAPTER TEN

_____________________

Two weeks pass and Jared’s adjusting to sober living. He’s grown fond of rising early to savour that morning cup of coffee, relishes the sweet taste of fresh sugar cane, actually feels the early afternoon Aurora sun soak into his skin. It’s the little things — the details he’d forgotten — that are easy to miss when your body’s pumped full of prescription. The difference between numbness and vibrancy.

He’s radiating.

And he’s starting to notice feelings too. Real, alive-in-the-body feelings. More than just the stomach sink of guilt or the devil-heat of rage. Feelings like pride in his chest when he collects eggs to be used for next morning’s breakfast, frustration in the brain when he hammered his thumb instead of that damned fence nail, peace in the heart when he watches Black Lightning’s shiny mane in the breeze as he canters.

It’s like he’s been reborn. Experiencing everything again, but for the first time (if that makes any sense).

At seven o’ clock in the evening, twice a week, the boys have family time, which means they can reflect on their friends and family back home. Some think of ways to make amends — write letters, send postcards, email, or what have you — while others just call their mama to catch up on the latest town gossip.

Jared’s always had a hard time getting through. Twice, he’d tried his father at home, but no answer. Once his housekeeper, Gretchen, picked up mid-voicemail, but she said his father wasn’t home. Jared had also tried his office four times — each time being informed his father was in meetings or on a conference call or too up to his eyeballs in paperwork. Jared reckons he’s probably spent more time talking to his father’s personal assistant than he has his actual father. It’s sad, really.

At last, at the behest of his assistant, his father had finally managed to clear a spot in his schedule to fit Jared in.

“Hey, kid, what’s up?”

“Nothing,” says Jared, secretly shy to be talking to his father from an out-of-state rehab. “They’ve got me cleaning horseshit all the time. Kinda sucks here.”

“Fuck-sakes, I don’t know how that’s supposed to fix people… _Jesus_. I thought I paid for one of the best rehabs.”

Jared shrugs. “Um, I mean. It _is_. The people here are really good, I guess.”

“Okay, well, why are you calling? Need anything?”

“Um, yeah, actually,” says Jared, switching gears. “If, um… I could use some more clothes… like, casual stuff. I’ve got cowshit all over everything.”

“I’ll have Gretchen pack a bag and ship it to you.”

“Oh, thanks. And, um, another thing, well, there’s this… _Family Day_ coming up, where everyone’s families come and visit Jacob’s Ladder… see what we do everyday. I was thinking, if you have time… you might wanna come down here and check things out. You know, make sure you’re getting your money’s worth.”

There’s a pause on the end of the line that seems to stretch on for eons. Then, the voice of disappointment that Jared knows all too well.

“No chance I’ll have that kind of time, Jared.”

“Yeah, okay, no big deal. All good,” says Jared, deflating. “I think only a couple people’s families are coming down anyway. Maybe you’ll get here for the next one.”

“Definitely,” says Jared’s father. “Okay, I gotta go. See you in a few months.”

“Okay, Dad.”

_Click._

~~~

After a decent night’s sleep, the best he’s had in a long time, Jared’s having a slightly better than shit morning today. He’s only had the runs once and that was more a result of Gus accidentally brewing the coffee double-strength than oxycodone leaving his bloodstream. He and Bobby-Jon are on hay-bucking duty and Jensen’s being an insufferable asshole, as usual.

“Quicker, Padalecki. I ain’t got all day.”

Jared grumbles. Shoots him a look when Jensen turns his back to tend to the horses. But Jared doesn’t talk back for once. He’s learned that it only gets him deeper in the shit.

Jensen, for one, is stunned at the newfound silence. He glances back at Jared, puzzled. “What, no smart-ass comeback?”

Jared shrugs. Keeps bucking.

“Gettin’ soft on me, Padalecki.”

_Ha, you asked for it._

“If you want soft, all you gotta do is look at the space where your old army muscles used to be.”

Jensen pauses, blinking at Jared, who keeps catching bales while Bobby-Jon stifles laughter. Then, he grins,

“That’s more like it.”

They buck hay in the barn all morning while the clouds burst with warm summer rain. They work in silence, listening to the soft pitter-patter on the roof and the occasional sheep bleat from the pasture. And just when Jared’s muscles are starting to ache, Jensen beckons him over.

“Give me a hand shoeing Sadie?”

Jared's heart races. It’s the first time Jensen’s ever asked him for help with anything besides straw or manure. He follows Jensen over to the stables, where Sadie, Clyde, Secretariat, and Black Lightning are boarded. Jensen opens Sadie’s pen and beckons Jared inside. He shuffles around to the back, where Jensen squats down by one of her back hooves.

“Don’t get kicked,” he says in warning. “I’ll hammer ‘em on if you hold her foot.”

Jared’s cheeks flush pink. “I- I don’t really know how…”

“I’ll show you.” He beckons Jared around the hind-quarters. He stands by the back left leg, glancing up to make sure Jared is watching. “You just gotta gain trust. Run your hand down her leg like this.” He runs his fingers down her splint bone, lightly grazing her coat. When his hand gets near her hoof, Sadie responds in kind by lifting her heel, letting Jensen pull her hoof up into his hand. “You just hold it like this while I hammer her shoes on.”

“Kay,” says Jared, watching as Jensen puts her foot down and dusts his hands off.

_How hard can it be?_

Still, he’s nervous. He feels completely out of his element and his pulse races as he stands next to the giant living, breathing animal as Jensen tinkers around the drawer for the horseshoes, hammer, and nails. It’s stupid, really. There are no stakes involved but he doesn’t want to fail. He wants to show Jensen how good of a job he can do. It’s a feeling he hasn’t felt in a long time. Maybe never.

Jensen returns with the tools. “All set? Give it a try.”

Jared leans down, runs his hand down the horses leg. It doesn’t budge.

“Try again. Be gentle. Show her who’s boss.”

“That makes no sense.” Still, Jared leans down, takes a breath and tries again. “Come _on_ ,” he hushes under his breath. Jensen’s eyes are on him, scrutinizing, and he’s feeling their intensity blazing through him. He steps back in frustration when Sadie’s damn foot won’t budge. “I can’t do it.”

Jensen raises an eyebrow. “You gonna give up that easy?”

Jared shrugs. Of _course_ Jensen would make a big deal out of it. Of _course_ he wouldn’t let him get away with it.

“She won’t — I mean, you know how to do it better than me...”

“Get to know her then.” He nods towards Sadie’s front end. “Go introduce yourself.”

Jared rolls his eyes. “You’re fucking with me. It’s like the shit pile all over again.”

“I’m _serious_ ,” says Jensen, balking at Jared’s defensiveness. “Go say hello.”

Jared grits his teeth, clicks his jaw and sighs like the drama queen he is before he turns and shuffles over to Sadie’s front end. He pats at her mane twice, rubbing at the velvety coat. Feels nice on his fingers. “Um… hey, horsie. Nice to meet you.”

He can hear Jensen snickering. Jared shakes his head. “What’s so goddamn funny?”

Jensen grins. “You sound like you’re in a business meeting or something.”

“Fuck off,” Jared laughs, feeling like an idiot. He pets Sadie again, shaking his head. This time, he hums more quietly. “Hi, Sadie. That’s a good girl.” Gives her a good rubdown. Lets her get used to him. Lets her know he’s not a threat.

“Now come try it again,” says Jensen after a minute or so.

Jared returns to the back end, takes a breath, mutters, _here we go_ , and runs his hand down her leg again. He holds his breath but, for the third time, she doesn’t budge. Tries one more time. From the top to the bottom. He sighs. She’s immovable.

“Here,” says Jensen, clicking his tongue twice and tapping Sadie’s ankle. She picks her foot up instantly.

Jared scoffs as he grabs the hoof in his hand. “You did the tongue-clicky thing, that’s why…”

Jensen smiles as he squats down next to where Jared is holding the hoof aloft. “No one gets it on their first try. You’ll get there. If you haven’t already figured it out, life on a farm is a series of advances and setbacks. That’s why we do what we do here — to experience farming sober is to learn to live with life's ups and downs.”

Three more failed attempts at hoof wrangling and twelve horseshoe nails later, Jared and Jensen close up Sadie’s pen for the night.

“She’s mocking me,” Jared grumbles as he leans over the top beam on the stable door, Sadie’s big black eyes staring right through him. Feels like she can see his _soul_ or something.

Jensen smiles that half-smile that looks so good on him. “She’s stubborn. But she loves bribes.”

He reaches into a nearby saddlebag and pulls out a sugar cube. Lays it flat on his palm and holds his hand under Sadie’s snout. She leans forward and Jared blinks in surprise when she wiggles her snout and snuffles up the treat from Jensen’s hand.

“Big teeth,” says Jared, wide-eyed. He’s never seen horse teeth before, unless you count Ruthie Henderson back in second grade.

“Hold out your hand.”

Jared complies, heart thumping. Jensen places a sugar cube in the centre of Jared’s palm.

“Hold it flat or she’ll chomp your fingers off.”

Jared copies what Jensen did — stretches out his hand until Sadie leans forward, flutters her gummy lips at his palm and then snuffles the cube up into her mouth. _Weird._

Jensen smiles. “See? She likes you now.”

Something in Jared’s belly twists like a knife. “I don’t like buying affection. It's fucked up.”

The matter of fact way he says it — the way it just slips from his mouth, point blank, instinctual — surprises him.

Jensen's caught off guard too, judging by the way his mouth turns down into a _hmm_.

“What, is that so shocking?” demands Jared, defences going up, voice raising. “ _Rich kid has morals_ or something?”

“Doesn’t surprise me. It’s intriguing. Introspective. That’s all.”

Jared frowns. “Yeah well, I don’t need your opinion on it. Don’t need anyone’s opinion on it.”

Something inside him makes him turn on his heels. He storms out of the barn and back up to the farm house for lunch, leaving Jensen speechless with two sugar cubes in his hand.

~~~

“Jensen. Addict.”

“ _Hi, Jensen._ ”

Jared mumbles through it this time. Makes an effort.

He avoided eye contact with Jensen all through lunch. He’s still on edge from the morning. About the tension in the air. Sugar cube bribery.

“Today’s theme is feelings,” says Jensen, two hands rubbing at the tops his thighs. “I wanna hear about ‘em. Whatever’s going on in here—“ he taps at his chest, where his heart is “—I wanna talk about it. Who’s first?”

Jared keeps his head down as Billy-Bob talks boredom, Adam talks fear, and Jeff talks regret. Time’s almost up when he hears his name.

“Jared,” says Jensen. “How ‘bout you?”

“Pass,” says Jared, trying desperately to push down the swell of emotion in his chest.

“Nope. Not gonna happen.” Jensen takes a breath. “Jared, something’s on your mind. We can all see it. So what we’re gonna do is sit here quietly until the end of group or until you find the words.” He settles, leans back in his chair.

The silence is overwhelming. And he wasn’t fucking kidding either. Jensen’s gonna make them all sit there for the last twenty minutes until Jared fesses up.

He swallows the lump in his throat. He should be angry. Should want to stand up and scream and storm out, the way he always does. But he doesn’t move. He’s glued to the chair, for once. And the anger he’s used to feeling gives way to sadness, self-pity, despair.

One shaky breath and the truth comes out.

“I, um… I’m not good at this vulnerable shit.” Can feel the tears burning behind his eyes. _Fuck_. Wipes them with the back of his hand. “I — I’m, like, _sad_ , for some reason. Like, it’s all hitting me at once. These _feelings_. ‘Bout my life. My past.”

Another shaky breath, another wipe of tears. Time to go deeper.

“Back in D.C., I’m, like, _lonely_. My Mom died when I was four. My Dad’s always busy — he just buys me stuff and sends me on my way. I think he thinks that’s love or something.”

Shakes his head. Can’t stop the tears now. They’re silent, but they flood him.

“My life… it should’ve been fun — money, parties, hook-ups. Rich kid problems, right? But it’s wasn’t like that. Convinced myself it was for awhile. That all those guys in business suits really cared about me. That they saw something in me.” He shakes his head, elbows on his knees. “But I see now… they just wanted my fucking dick, man. To get their hands, their _mouths_ , on me in a men’s room or a goddamn Metro station.”

A heaving breath, the words tumble out.

“Hell, that’s where I got on drugs in the first place. They gave ‘em to me. Thought if they got me all fucked up on coke or Oxy that I’d be more down for shit.” He huffs a laugh. “Little did they know I’d fall for anyone who looked at me like that. Like they wanted me.”

The room is quiet for another minute. At last, Jared looks up. Looks around at the faces of all the boys and Jensen, listening to him. _Caring_. He takes a breath and adds,

“People try to buy you, you know? Buy your love. Sad part is… it makes you feel like you aren’t worth shit.”

Both Rush and Jeff nod their heads. Bobby-Jon takes a deep breath.

“That’s it.”

Jensen nods. Catches eyes with him, wet emerald green. “Thank you for sharing that, Jared.”

The funny thing about vulnerability is that it gives you a hangover if you aren’t used to it. But, for the rest of the meeting, he does feel lighter. Like a weight’s been lifted. There’s a strange heat in his stomach, like a gash is being cinched and stitched up. Maybe it’s healing.

At the end of the meeting, the boys collect themselves before heading to patio yoga, grabbing an extra cup of coffee or ducking into the bathroom to splash their red eyes with cold water. Jared can’t move. He stays glued to his seat — frozen in time, stuck in limbo — until it’s only him and Jensen left.

Finally, Jared stands up, legs wobbling like a newborn lamb. Inhales and breathes out all the shit he’s been holding in. Can’t really make eye contact when Jensen approaches him. When he puts a farm-worn hand on his shoulder and squeezes.

It’s all the validation Jared needs. And more love than he’s ever received.

Emotion floods him and he collapses into Jensen’s chest, face buried in soft fabric that smells like soap and sunlight. Clutches at his back, grabbing tight fistfuls of plaid and finger-scrabbling until he feels secure. Melts as Jensen pulls him tight, wraps his strong arms around him, squeezing till their rib cages hurt, until Jared can scarcely breathe.

It lasts for thirty seconds, if that. But it’s cathartic. _Therapeutic_. The kind of touch Jared’s been craving his whole life. Unconditional.

Jared blinks as he backs away, wiping tears on his T-shirt sleeve. Laughs through snot and saliva, “I fucking hate you sometimes. You don't let me get away with anything. You’re stubborn as shit.”

Jensen laughs too. There’s a single tear sitting at the corner of his eye that Jared wants to touch. “Ain’t half as stubborn as some people.”

They exchange a look and then chuckle, looking down at the floor. Jared grabs a nearby tissue, shrugs,

“I gotta go to yoga.”

Jensen nods once, green eyes misting over.

He doesn’t want to leave. He wants to stay here and… and talk, or… just _be_. Instead, he hears the sing-song voice of Darlene, the yoga teacher, wafting in from the patio. He heads for the door.

“Hey, Jared…”

Turns around. Catches eyes with a man who looks beautiful all of a sudden.

“Ain’t enough money in the world to buy you.”


	12. Chapter 12

CHAPTER ELEVEN

_____________________

Family Day arrives and it’s a lot of hugs and kisses and _“You look so greats”_ and _“I missed yous.”_ Adam’s mom drove all the way from Chattanooga, Jeff’s sister-in-law brought his daughters down from Morgantown for the day, and Rush’s best friend from back home in Montrose is giving out bear hugs.

Jared stands on the sidelines, loneliness weighing heavy in his gut as he watches all the families. Wishes he had a mother like Adam’s, or a mother, _period_. Wishes he had a dad who gave a shit. Who would clear his schedule for one day and fly in — god knows he can afford it.

No friends, no family. And Jared’s feeling just lonely enough to delude himself into thinking that Jensen’s been glancing across rooms, barns, and pastures at him all morning.

_Wishful thinking, maybe._

A gaze from those green eyes is like catching lightning in a bottle. Striking.

Around midday, when everyone’s supposed to go hiking along the forest trail out to the fire pit for a picnic lunch, Jared hangs back, veers off. Jensen notices.

“Okay, Padalecki?”

“I’m gonna skip the picnic,” he shrugs. “Don’t feel well.”

Jensen raises an eyebrow. Takes two steps towards him and places the back of his hand on Jared’s forehead. _Rude._

“You feel just fine to me,” he says. “Besides, if you stay here, you’re gonna miss out on my famous potato salad.”

Jared frowns. “Whatever.” He makes a solemn turn towards the farm house, but a strong hand on his shoulder stops him in his tracks. Turns him back around.

“C’mon,” he says, eyes twinkling. “I ain’t got family here either.”

 _Damn you_.

It’s annoying as shit when Jensen can read his mind like that. Maybe Jared just isn’t very complicated. Or convincing enough.

“Come on. I don’t just make potato salad every day…”

“ _Fine_ ,” he rolls his eyes. Ever the drama queen. “But I’m not _participating_ in anything stupid.”

Jensen grins, “Deal.”

They spend the afternoon at the forest campsite with the boys and their families and nothing’s that much different or out of the ordinary other than the unspoken deal between he and Jensen — that they’re each others’ _person_ for the day. It manifests in little ways — a friendly smile here and there, an unprompted second helping of pecan pie appearing on his plate, and the automatic pairing up during egg toss (stupid) and corn hole (lame). And, for a few hours, out in the expanse of the forest, Jared feels a little bit lighter.

After the picnic, when the sun’s beginning to set and the sky's all pink and orange, they all make their way back through the forest path towards the ranch. On their way, Jensen leans in, bumps him on the elbow.

“So, was today as bad as you thought?”

Jared sighs. _Jerk_. “Actually, it turned out okay.”

Jensen nods. They walk in silence for a few more minutes, until they reach the edge of the forest again and the pathway opens up down near the barn. The two of them are bringing up the rear and, just as they’re about to pass the cabin, he hears Jensen’s throat clear.

“Uh, Jared, hold up a minute.”

The rest of the group carries on, oblivious to the two stragglers, as Jared follows him over to the side of the cabin.

Jared’s pulse races. Because, unless he's mistaken, Jensen looks _nervous_. There’s a rose pink flush on his cheeks and it’s a shade of him Jared’s never seen before. Makes his heart flutter and his palms sweat. His brain wonders how the hell this guy doesn't have a wife yet.

“Hey, so, I know I’m not your actual family or anything..." Jensen utters. "But if I _were_ —” his eyes flutter up to meet Jared’s “—I’d tell you that I’m really proud of how far you’ve come these past few weeks.”

Jared blushes. Hopes the sunset hides it.

“And, uh, I wanted to give you something.”

Jensen withdraws something from his breast pocket. In his outstretched hand, between his finger and thumb, is a sobriety token: _30 DAYS._

Jared’s mouth falls open. “Is that…”

“My first 30-day chip, yeah. Yours now.” Jensen takes a breath. “I know it’s not until tomorrow, but I wanted you to have it when you first wake up.”

Jared reaches out, takes the token from between Jensen’s fingers and holds it so tenderly in his palm, the letters worn down like they’ve seen more than one lifetime. “Jensen, I - I can’t accept this.”

“It’s yours,” says Jensen, putting his hands in his pockets. Smiles softly. “No take-backs.”

He’s speechless — not quite sure what to say because he imagines, he _knows_ , what this must mean to Jensen. What it symbolizes. Sobriety and self-commitment. At last, he meets Jensen’s eyes, blinking tears from them, and settles on a soft, “Thank you.”

The lovely way Jensen’s eyes look, the pink of his cheeks that makes each individual freckle stand out, the slight curve of his mouth… it’s enough to make Jared melt into the soil right then and there because it’s like staring straight into the sun and not going blind. Beautiful and all-consuming.

Jared’s weak at the knees.

_Stupid straight-boy crush. Cursed again._

They resume their walk up to the farm house. Jensen breaks the sunset-silence.

“Can’t get used to how much you've grown from that smart-ass, stubborn kid who first got here…”

Jared smiles. He rubs at the pocketed 30-day chip with his thumb and it makes him bold. So bold the words just spill out. The god’s honest truth. Pointless flirtation.

“You like that I’m a smart-ass. It’s your favourite part about me. Keeps you on your toes.”

Jensen chuckles, shakes his head. Grins in a way that highlights the crinkles at his eyes. “Well, god damn. Didn’t think you had me figured like that.”

His stomach flips, recalling Jensen's words from weeks ago. “What can I say? I see you.”

The feeling that passes between them is a new one — one that Jared's gonna meditate on.

Feels almost like the beginning of something.


	13. Chapter 13

CHAPTER TWELVE

_____________________

The next six weeks at Jacob’s Ladder pass by in a blink and Jared’s adjusting to life on the ranch — muscles withstanding the manual labour, feeding chickens and herding sheep, rising with the sun. He even anticipates the cock’s crow.

He’s also grown accustomed to the easy, comfortable silences that just _exist_ between he and Jensen — how easy it is for them to just _be_ together. Gotten used to the special rhythms they share — taking turns doing farm chores, tidying up and putting things back in their proper place. Knows the slop bucket goes under the feed bags and the rake gets stood up by the hay bales. That Dandelion moos three times when she wants attention and Paco the Pig will kick you in the shins if you sneak up on him. Jared’s sheared seven sheep and can finally get Sadie to lift her feet when Jensen horseshoes her.

The boys are looking fit and healthy from the farm work and fresh air. Every day Jared thinks about pills a little less. Almost relishes life’s aches and pains now — headaches are treated with water, cuts and scrapes with a hot compress and bandage, loneliness with talk therapy and guided meditation.

Things are simpler. There isn’t as much panic about how he’s gonna get through the day. He has _discipline_ now. Knows exactly how much grain to set out for the chicks and at what age to stop using milk bottles to feed the baby pigs. He’s seen how precious it is to witness _life_ — the first time a baby lamb stands up and finds its footing. Can drive a tractor, spread hay, harvest cucumbers.

The boys have gone to Veteran’s Day parades in town (supervised) and taken part in a Service of Remembrance for those who’d lost their lives to addiction. They’ve broken and restrung the rope swing at the swimming hole twice now.

In short, they’re in recovery.

Second by second, hour by hour, day by day.

~~~

The thing about court ordered rehab is that it’s kind of like juvie. You can’t leave, can’t have your phone, or have sex (and Jared's thinking more and more about it these days) without someone hearing about it. They’re in such close quarters, they practically live on top of each other.

So when the opportunity for a day out away from it all comes around, the boys get whipped up into a frenzy.

Jared’s never been so excited to go out in his life. Sunday afternoon square-dancing at the local community barn, tea and biscuits provided by the local Ladies Auxillary.

If his D.C. party-people could see him now...

In early afternoon, the boys sit around the patio, strategizing. Jared’s learning that so much of maintaining sobriety is planning ahead. Making sure you’ve got a schedule, a ride home, a hard out when alcohol or drugs appear. Constant plotting.

Soon, Jensen joins them, a stony look on his face.

“Just got off the phone with the Ladies Auxillary. There’s gonna be alcohol there.”

There’s a perceptible shift in the energy around the circle. Nervousness and _itch_ creeps in.

Jensen asks, “What’s everyone's thoughts about that?”

Adam’s the first to pipe up. “I don’t even wanna go in the first place. The booze don’t bug me — ain't my thing — but it’s just gonna be a bunch of church people who don’t want us around. It’s corny.”

Jared chimes in. “No offence, Adam, but you’re judging them just as much as you think they’re gonna judge us. I think we should go. We should try to have fun somewhere that doesn’t involve us getting fucked up.”

The rest of the boys hum in agreement. A few more add their thoughts until there’s a consensus.

“Okay, then, we’ll go,” nods Jensen, cautious but trusting. “But, because there’s alcohol there, we’re all gonna have to be hyper-vigilant. I don’t want anyone walkin’ in with a big head, thinking it’s gonna be easy. Truth is, we’re all just one thought, one _slip_ , away from being back in our addiction. Understand?”

Everyone hums a ‘ _yes_.’ They’re all pretty goddamn stupid, but at least they’re willing to admit it. Hell, it wasn’t two months ago that Jared was with these same boys, spouting off about how he’s not an addict. About how he was the one in control of his own actions and didn’t need help from anybody.

He was so full of shit. Still is, in a lot of ways.

There’s a lot more work left to do.

~~~

At a quarter to three, they all suit up in their finest plaid shirts and jeans — Jeff lets Jared borrow one of his blue-checkered button ups — and head to the next town over for the barn dance. The fiddle music fills the air even before they get into the barn, the rich sounds floating in the warm Southern breeze.

There are a few older ladies and gentlemen playing the fiddles, wooden spoons, and guitars, while the fifty or so attendees mill about the hay stacks. Everyone’s got forty years on Jared (at _least_ ) and a lot more white hairs. Even Jensen, at the ripe old age of 36, looks baby-faced compared to these seniors. But as the Jacob’s Ladder boys enter the barn, everyone smiles in their direction and welcomes them as they make their way up to where the band plays. Adam takes a seat on a hay bale and a few of the other guys join him. They watch the square-dancing from a distance while Jensen leaves to chat with the organizer.

It’s a little awkward, to be sure, and it takes Jared a few minutes to relax. This is entirely out of his element. He’s never so much as heard fiddle music, so square-dancing to it seems out of the question.

“Gettin’ a soda,” he says. “Anyone else?”

“Rum n’ coke,” quips Jeff, winking.

Jared rolls his eyes before heading over to to the food and drink table, grabs a couple cans of Coke for whoever wants ‘em. Spends a second or two eyeing up the bottles of beer sitting in an ice bucket and then moves on. Hands a couple bucks to the nice old lady manning the cash box.

“You boys here from the Youth Ministry?”

“Um, not exactly…” Jared can’t help but smile. “Jacob’s Ladder. Addiction recovery centre in Aurora. It’s our day out.”

The lady smiles back, takes Jared’s hand and pats the top of it. “You boys are welcome at our dances anytime. It’s nice to see young people around.”

“Thanks,” Jared flushes pink. He takes the sodas back to the guys and hands them out. They take turns passing the cans around, sharing sips.

Soon, Jared gets bored sitting around. He explores around the barn for a few minutes, taking a look around at all the ladies done up in their best square-dancing dresses. The men all wear cowboy boots and 10-gallon hats. _Welcome to another world_.

Eventually, Jared gets up close to the dusty floorboard dance area. He watches. It’s fascinating, the way everyone seems to know what to do — which moves to make and which partner’s hips to grab as the caller spouts off directions he can't make heads or tails of. He’s been to the most hip nightclubs in D.C., but he can’t quite seem to make sense of this type of movement.

Suddenly, a hand sneaks a five dollar bill into his shirt pocket.

“Should cover the sodas,” says Jensen, pulling up beside him. When Jared’s about to protest, Jensen insists.

Jared nods in compliance. “Didn’t think to get you one, sorry.”

“S’okay. Can’t drink the stuff anyway. Reminds me too much of the old days.”

Jared nods. He wonders how he’ll feel when he gets out of here. When he goes back to his people, his scene, his old hangouts. Wonders what his can-of-Coke triggers will be…

They stand together, not speaking _—_ the quiet companionship they’ve grown accustomed to _—_ and watching as couples get up to dance to the fiddle tunes. After a minute, Jensen elbows him, nodding toward the dance floor.

“Anyone catch your eye?”

Jared places a finger on his lips, pretending to survey the crowd. “Hmm, that’s a hard ‘ _no_.’”

“What, you don’t like older guys?”

There’s a glint in Jensen’s eye, a half-smile that curls at his mouth. A look that Jared’s never seen before. (Or, perhaps he had, in a dream one time…) A look that intrigues him. Like there’s some sort of funny _challenge_ in it.

“Don’t mind older,” Jared shrugs, feeling heat creep along his collar. ( _Stupid, stupid straight boy crush._ ) “Prefer ‘em really. But not so old their dicks don’t work.”

Jensen laughs, the first real laugh Jared’s ever heard from him. And he joins in, pleased to catch the dimples on Jensen’s cheeks and the way he bites his bottom lip to quiet himself.

The way they are together… It’s easy, somehow.

“What about you? I think there’s some girls your age here…” He elbows Jensen in the ribs and nods at a cluster of white-haired ladies with walkers.

“Think I’ll pass,” Jensen grins, then looks at Jared pointedly. “Besides, women ain’t exactly my type.”

Jared blinks, stupidly. Takes a minute for his brain to catch up. Because, hold up… He didn’t just —

_Besides, women ain’t exactly my type._

No double meaning. No misinterpretation.

Jared’s mouth falls open a little, his brows knit together in befuddlement because the thought of it — the _impossibility_ of it — flusters him. Sets him completely off-kilter.

_Jensen Ackles is — ?  
_

“What?” says Jensen, looking entirely too satisfied with himself. “Shit, Padalecki, I thought you had me all figured out…”

He winks and walks away, towards the dance floor, grinning like a goddamn _flirt_ (what the fuck?!) and leaving Jared in stunned silence. Jared watches, mouth agape, as Jensen extends a hand to one of the square-dancing ladies who doesn’t have a partner. His stomach’s doing backflips.

_He can't be . . . he's —_

“Would you like to dance, young man?”

The question wrenches Jared out of his stupor. “Wh-what?”

A little old lady dressed in her Sunday best is beckoning him to take her arm.

“Oh,” stammers Jared, trying to make his mouth work while his brain is in overdrive. _Jensen Motherfucking Ackles._ “I don’t really know how…”

“It’s easy,” she says, tugging on his arm. “You just follow the caller’s directions.”

With another cheeky nudge from the lady (who’s name is Betty and drenched in perfume, Jared learns), he makes his way onto the dance floor — the first of the boys to do so, followed a minute later by Jeff and Rush. When everyone has found a partner, they form eight-person circles and get into position.

Too quickly, the music starts and everyone promenades, the boys trying (and failing) to keep up with the square dancing directions announced by the caller. They glide around the barn at the mercy of their spirited partners, who seem to get a kick out of showing the youngsters how it’s done. Jared’s partner smiles as she whips him around the circle.

“You look like my first husband,” she giggles, squeezing his hand.

Jared smiles. “Why, was he terrible at this too?”

They twirl and whirl around the floor until Jared spots Jensen, who's _dosado_ -ing his partner like he’s done this a thousand times. Jared can’t help but stare. He’s seen him every day for the past few months at the ranch, bucking hay, roping horses, driving tractors. Seen him lead group meetings, eat chilli, meditate.

Not once did it occur to Jared that Jensen might be anything other than straight. Never considered it a possibility.

_Shit, Padalecki, I thought you had me all figured out…_

“What’s on your mind, son?” asks Betty, noticing Jared is elsewhere.

“Oh, um…” Shakes his head on straight. “My sober coach. I’ve, um, never seen him have fun like this.”

Betty cranes her neck. “You mean Jensen? Yes, he’s quite the gentleman. He helps set up our tables for the flea market every Sunday. Always stays for a glass of iced tea.”

“Really?” He watches as Jensen twirls his partner around, takes the lead. “Um, this is a weird question, but do you know if he’s seeing anyone? I mean, most people are married by his age.” He's on the hunt for more info.

Betty smiles gently. “In the six years he’s been in Aurora, I’ve never seen him with a woman. Not much for girlfriends, that one.”

Jared’s heart flutters. It’s not quite the answer he’s looking for, doesn’t quite get to the bottom of whether Jensen Ackles is harbouring a secret husband in one of his cabin nooks and crannies. Or if he’s even _out_ to people. There are so many questions Jared’s dying to ask. And until he gets the chance, he’ll be on pins and needles.

_Maybe he’s like me... Maybe he’s just like me._

Single and sad and searching for something. Something real.

After another minute the music slows and the crowd breaks into applause. For the rest of the dance, Jared’s stuck in a daze, watching Jensen charm all the old ladies. And it strikes him that Jared’s never seen him smile like this. And the sight makes him… _happy_. Fills him with warm and fuzzy new feelings, like he’s seeing the sun break through the clouds after an infinite stretch of overcast.

He gets dizzy with day-dreams. Drummed up and delirious.

The truth about dances is, no matter who you go with, you always end up wanting to leave with someone else.


	14. Chapter 14

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

_____________________

When you’re high, all you think about when you wake up is where your stash is. When you’re sober, you appreciate the little things. The birds chirping, the hum of cicadas, the smell of woodsmoke, the rustle of leaves.

It’s been two whole weeks since Jared’s world shifted. Since he’d heard the joyous ring of a belly laugh, seen the glint of green emerald and crow’s feet crinkles, felt the _whoosh_ and _whirl_ of his own stomach as he heard the revelation — the confession.

_Besides, women ain’t exactly my type._

They haven’t talked about it since.

Not for lack of trying, though. At least on Jared’s part. He’d spent every day of the last week trying to get Jensen alone. Tried lingering at the barn through lunch (his day off). Tried volunteering to help him castrate sheep (Adam got there first). Even tried rapping knuckles on his cabin door late one afternoon (no answer).

With all its sprawling fields and rolling pastures, the ranch sure seems overcrowded these days. Maybe it’s a good thing. After all, Jared doesn’t have the faintest idea of what he would say to Jensen if they were to find themselves alone. Isn’t even sure his mouth would work right.

Of course, Jared still sees him everywhere — at group meetings, at the dinner table, at yoga. Wonders if Jensen sees him too. Swears he can feel eyes on him at different times of the day, but never manages to catch proof. And he’s spent the last several nights dreaming of shoulder touches and elbow nudges, of army T-shirts and boxer-briefs, as he drifts off to sleep.

He hasn’t had this many wet dreams since detox.

This afternoon, the boys are off on their second round of wilderness adventure therapy. Last month they went white-water rafting. Today, it’s orienteering in the forest capped off with a bonfire later that night.

Jared’s never used a compass in his life.

He’s grouped with Jeff and Bobby-Jon, with Grant as their guide. They spend hours walking, navigating the trails to find ‘due North,’ picking berries and herbs for Gus the cook, learning how to set rabbit traps and carve utensils out of tree branches. Jeff's got a good sense of humour about the whole thing.

“You gonna use these skills back in D.C., Jared?”

He laughs. “Dude, where I’m from, there’re barely any _trees_.”

Jeff shakes his head. “Don’t seem right.”

They’re orienteering their way back towards the ranch now, another hour or so of hiking till they reach the fire pit just inside the tree line. Nothing to do but make conversation.

“So, you’ve got about a month left in the program too?”

“Yep, same as you,” says Jeff. “To be honest, I’m kinda scared of leavin’. Ain’t nothing but drugs waitin’ for me back in Morgantown.”

“Won’t Doc and Beto help you get set up?”

Jeff nods. “They’ll do the best they can. Truth is, there ain't much hope for guys like me. Being on drugs is the only life I’ve ever known. Grew up with thinkin’ it’s the only way to live. My whole family’s fucked up on somethin’. Those who’re alive, that is.”

“Shit,” says Jared. “That’s heavy.”

“Well, what about ‘chu? What’s waitin’ for you back home?”

A dizzy feeling comes over Jared, one that has nothing to do with the three-hour hike. “I’ve got a place to live… with my dad. But I kinda relate. The only friends I have back home, if you can even call them that, are users. If I wanna stay clean, I’ll have to do everything differently.”

Jeff nods, solemn. “Better start practicing now.”

It’s a long walk back to the campsite. A few months ago, Jared was terrified about his stash running out.

Now the only thing that scares him is running out of time.

~~~

The campfire crackles as the dusky sunset turns to dark blue night. All the boys, plus Beto, Grant, and Jensen, are in the forest, sitting around the fire, roasting marshmallows, telling stories. Rush’s got an old, out of tune guitar that he’s noodling away on. There are hot dogs roasting and popcorn kernels popping over white-hot coals.

And as Jared stares into the dancing flames, it strikes him how much he’s gonna miss all of this. Miss the country. Miss the guys. Miss his daily routine, strict as it is.

_One month till graduation._

“You okay over there, Padalecki?” Jensen asks from across the fire, noticing his pensiveness.

“Yeah, I guess,” he says, shifting. “I’m just thinking about things. Like how easy it is to just, well, stare at this fire and not do drugs. And how many little sounds I can hear out here — the pops of wood, the owls, the hot dogs sizzling… it’s just… I dunno.”

Jensen smiles. “Kinda beautiful.”

Catches Jensen’s eye.

_Yeah, he is._

Later on, when the call of Gus’s late-night nachos proves too much to resist, the rest of the boys (Grant and Beto had left an hour ago for bed) head back through the woods towards the ranch.

“You’re turning down nachos?” asks Jensen, an eyebrow raised. He stays put, poking at the fire with a roasting stick.

He could care less about food. The only thing in the world he wants right now is to stay by this fire all night long, watching the logs burn ( _hiss_ and _pop_ ) and sitting with Jensen. Alone again, at long last.

Jared clears his throat, watching the other boys disappear into the forest. “I’d rather stay here and watch the fire for awhile. Unless you got somewhere else to be?”

Jensen flashes an easy smile, settles back against the log he’s been leaning on. “Now where the hell else would I have to be on a night like this? Moon’s bright, stars are out…”

“Good company…”

Jensen hums, “Good company.”

They sit in the quiet for a few minutes, under the stars, until Jensen gets up to toss another log on the fire. Jared's got so many unanswered questions, he figures he best start asking now.

“Do you ever get scared you’ll relapse? Start drinking again?”

Jensen takes a deep breath, settling back down across the fire from Jared.

“Used to get scared a lot more. Nowadays I feel more in control. I work the program every day. Over time, sobriety becomes less of a conscious choice and more of a way of life.” He shifts. “But I can’t say there aren’t days I don’t think about it. The bad days.”

“What happens on the bad days?”

“Nothin’ you need to be concerned about.” Jensen takes a steadying breath. Weighs his options before deciding to proceed. “I mean, this is a tough job. And I’ve been doin’ it for years. I see countless young guys with potential walk through those doors. And, no matter how hard we try, a lot of ‘em don’t make it. Never get clean. End up in jail or in a body bag.” He shakes his head. “Hell, I did two tours in Iraq. And it fucked me up good. But this is a whole other war we’re fighting here.”

Jared notices the lines of worry on Jensen’s face. And his bones get all jittery, as if signaling his body to leap up and launch himself across the fire so he can rub those worry-lines away.

“Sorry,” adds Jensen. “I shouldn’t be sayin’ all this.”

“I asked." Jared’s hands move to his knees, drawn up so his boots don’t burn. Wants to reach through the flame and touch him. Like he’s magnetized. Like they’re too far apart.

“What about you?” asks Jensen, softly. “You ever miss the high?”

Jared raises an eyebrow. “Are you asking as my sober coach or are you _really_ asking?”

“Can’t it be both?”

“Yeah, guess so...” says Jared, contemplating the possibility of knowing each other in more ways than one. “Well, if I’m honest, I don’t miss it. Not really.”

Jensen frowns. “Hm. Didn’t expect that.” He uses the toe of his boot to readjust one of the logs at the edge of the fire. “Some people spend the first few months fighting intense cravings. Kinda like they aren't sure they want to give it up yet.”

“I mean, it’s hard, don’t get me wrong. Near impossible, really," says Jared, biting his thumbnail. "But I was at the point where I wasn’t doing drugs for fun anymore. It just became a fucking _chore_ , you know?”

“Yeah, I know,” Jensen admits. “I got to a point where I couldn’t even get drunk anymore. I was drinking a bottle of _Wild Turkey_ a day just to feel normal.”

They’re quiet for a minute, letting the _crackles_ and _pops_ of the fire light up the night. At last, Jared adds,

“Is that how you feel now? Normal?”

Jensen looks at him. Surveys him across the flame. Seems like it’s the first time in a long time that anyone’s asked about that. About _h_ _is_ feelings.

“I - I feel clean. I’m lucky to be alive and I’m grateful for every day I don’t use.” He squirms against the log, avoids Jared’s eye. “So, yeah. It’s all good. Normal, whatever you said.”

Jared’s not buying it.

“So, you’re happy? You don’t want… something more?”

Jensen fidgets again. Something about Jared’s line of questioning seems to throw him off-kilter. When he answers, his voice has an edge — a _soft_ edge — to it.

“I get to wake up everyday with a roof over my head, take care of animals and help people work through the same demons I have. Plus, no one with an AK-47 is shooting at me. What more is there?”

Jared hums, fiddles with his fingers. Swallows and takes a leap of faith. Starts practicing living differently.

“At the barn dance, Betty said she never sees you with anyone. Like a boyfriend… or whatever.”

The ‘whatever’ hangs in the air like an unanswered question. One last chance for Jensen to deny what he’d said about women not being his type — to admit it was all a sick joke and let Jared off the hook before he gets in to deep. It might be too late already.

The flames dance and flicker.

“What is this, an interrogation?” asks Jensen, with a hint of nervousness. He half-smiles. “I warn you, I ain’t half-bad at those.”

Jared returns a wry smile. “You don’t want to answer?”

It’s a dare. A push forward. A _let me have it, Ackles._

“Tough to meet people around here, doing what I do. And I get along fine on my own. Always have.”

“But don’t you want someone? Someone to come home to? To listen to you complain about all the eighteen-year-old smart-asses who make your life a living hell?” He grins, winks. Feels daring.

Jensen chuckles. “Padalecki, you give yourself way too much credit.”

Jared takes a breath. Flirts with vulnerability.

“I hate that I like it when you call me that…” His cheeks turn rose-pink. Wonders if Jensen can see the effect he has. “And, come on, you know I get under your skin. More than you want to admit.”

Something in the air shifts. Jensen’s eyes turn down, but the crook of a smile appears at one side of his mouth. Jared can’t stop staring at him.

_Too. Far. Apart._

On cue, Jensen reaches for the bag of marshmallows. Pops one onto the roasting stick. “Want one?”

Jared nods. Bites his bottom lip. “Coals are better over here.”

It’s a split second of hesitation — of _should I_ ’s and overthinking — before Jensen commits. He moves over to Jared’s side of the fire and sits down, settling back against the same log as Jared, so close they almost touch.

“We’ll each do one,” says Jared, digging a marshmallow from the bag and popping it onto another stick. He holds it right at the hottest part of the fire, while Jensen chooses a less obvious coal-bed.

And everything is perfect. Because it’s just the two of them. _Being — existing_ — with each other. Breathing the same air. They’ve never been this close. Not since that terrible night in the cabin, visions of which — of _I’m here_ ’s, of pulling a heavy body close, and of warm exhales ghosting on lips — visit Jared in fever-dreams.

He’s never felt so alive.

“So how 'bout you?” asks Jensen, clearing his throat. His eyes are laser-focused on his marshmallow. “You got someone back home waitin’ on you? Boyfriend or something?”

“No.” He’s confessed to a lot in group meetings, but somehow, sitting by the fire with Jensen like this, feels different. Feels like there’s so much more at stake. That the truth might actually hurt. “I, um... I used to get up to a lot of trouble in D.C. Drinking, drugs, fucking around with businessmen on the down low…”

Jensen spins his marshmallow, warming the edges. “You ever have something long-term with someone?”

Now it’s Jared’s turn to squirm. Figures he deserves as much. His own marshmallow is starting to smoke at the edges, charring black. “Never. Spent most of my time getting high and cruising around with men I’d never see again.”

“Gonna burn that,” says Jensen, eyeing Jared’s marshmallow.

Right on cue, it catches fire. He yanks it back and blows on it to quell the flame. Pops it in his mouth. “I like ‘em burnt.”

“Bullshit, you’re just too impatient to wait,” Jensen grins. He, of course, keeps toasting his own marshmallow to golden-brown perfection. “So you’ve never really been close to someone, then. Never been in love…”

The question catches him off guard. But, even so, Jared knows the answer. The love that’s found in nightclub restrooms isn’t the kind that feeds your soul.

“No, never,” he admits through a mouthful of burnt marshmallow. “Have you?”

Jensen’s shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath. “Yeah, once. And it tore me up and spit me out. But it’s also the best feeling in the world. Knowing you can count on somebody. That someone knows — _really knows_ — the real you.” He takes another deep breath. “That was a long time ago. Another lifetime.”

Jared reflects on that. Stares into the fire at Jensen’s perfectly toasted marshmallow. “I think I’d like to fall for someone. I want to experience all of it — the good, the bad… just, everything.”

Jensen takes his marshmallow out of the fire. It’s perfectly toasted, golden brown and gooey. He pulls it off the stick and hands it over to Jared without a word.

Jared smiles and places the marshmallow on his tongue and squishes down. It’s the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted. It melts in his mouth.

The flame crackles around them for a few minutes until Jensen looks over at him, grins and reaches his hand out towards Jared’s face. He thumbs at the corner of Jared’s lip, where a string of sticky marshmallow gets rubbed clean. Jared’s heart catches in his chest.

It’s the first time Jensen’s touched him like this… really let his guard down. Jared's cheeks flush and he wonders if the glow of the fire hides it. At the same time, Jensen's brain seems to register what he's doing. He withdraws his hand and hangs his head, cheeks turning pink.

"Sorry, I —"

"Are you like this with any of the other guys?”

The question hangs in the air. But Jared had to ask. Has to _know_. And the longer Jensen sits in silence — the longer he considers his answer — the more flustered Jared becomes. Because it’s almost out in the open now.

Jared isn’t sure which answer he’s more afraid of.

Jensen shifts his leg, bringing it dangerously close to touching Jared’s.

“No,” he says, softly. “Not now or before.” His fingers start to graze along the jean-creases at Jared’s knee.

Jared swears his heart’s stopped beating for a second when Jensen’s leg brushes up against his — thigh to thigh, the warmth, the heavy smoke of fire pit and electricity between them — _crackle, pop, flicker_.

Their fingers inch closer. Jared thinks he might die if he doesn’t feel his skin. Then, all of a sudden —

_SNAP._

The sound of a stick snapping in two and muffled laughter breaks the connection. Jared and Jensen spring apart in surprise.

“Sorry, did I scare you guys?” Rush passes by the fire pit and lights a cigarette at the smoking log. “Forgot my guitar.”

The starry night spins like a top. Jared's all flustered. Hot and bothered.

“Only thing that scares me is your singing, Rush,” quips Jensen, who seems a lot more cool, calm, and collected than Jared feels right now. Not when they’d come so close to their hands touching… hadn’t they? Surely Jared hadn’t imagined them leaning in…

Jared’s yanked out of his lust-stupor when he feels a heavy _slap_ on his leg. Jensen’s already standing up and moving to douse the fire.

“Time to turn in for the night. Got an early day tomorrow.”

Jared nods, mourning the fact that the moment is over. He shuffles to his feet.

Both he and Rush watch as Jensen pours a bucket of rain water over the fire, letting the smouldering flames go up in smoke.


	15. Chapter 15

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

_____________________

Jared’s not too sure when exactly it happened, or what event transpired to make him warm to Jensen like this.

He imagines it was a series of small moments — elbow grazes, lingering glances, the crook of a smile, and the praise of a job well done. It was the little moments, the unacknowledged intimacy, the spaces in-between, that made Jared notice — _really notice_ — him. And he can’t quite put his finger on what they mean to each other — if it’s friendship or mentorship or a bit of anything and everything, wrapped in a plaid button-up with sawdust on the sleeves.

The only thing he does know is that he can’t stop himself from blushing whenever Jensen is around. Every innocent touch turns his cheeks rose-red, gives him goosebumps, quickens his heart. It’s muscle memory. And, if Jared’s half as good at reading into things as he seems — of tips of handlebar ears tinged pink, the spark of emerald eyes, or the linger of freckled fingerprints — it’s not just one-sided. By his estimation (or maybe it’s just wishful thinking), Jensen’s got some new hangups about shit-disturber-trust-fund-kid Jared Padalecki — hangups he’s not quite sure what to do with. He can’t tuck them into his back pocket alongside his Big Red or pound them into the earth like fence posts.

But, like Jared, he seems to take their new normal in stride, testing the waters here and there — a nudge, a wink, a smile. And in those moments, something unnamed passes between them, call it chemistry or attraction or whatever. Cuts the air like a scythe, brands their skin like a cattle prod, itches like too-dry hay.

And it’s gonna be all over soon. Only six days left in the program. Six days until Jared gets shipped back to the big city. Back home where he belongs.

Funny thing about home is that it tends to follow you around.

“So, uh, you got plans for your recovery outside’a here?” mumbles Jensen one evening after dinner, toeing at the loose floorboard in the hallway while the rest of the guys wash dishes or head out for a smoke. He can’t quite meet Jared’s eye. “You got a place to go and everything?”

Jared’s shoulders droop as he leans in the entryway, body curled towards Jensen as much as he dares with people around. “Back to D.C. My Dad’s, I guess. Kinda worried about it.”

Jensen nods. “Returning to old haunts can be tough. Easy to relapse if you fall into old patterns — same friends, same hangouts, same temptations…”

“Same reasons for using in the first place…”

Green eyes meet his at last. “Guess I did get through to you a little.”

“You got through to me a lot,” says Jared, softer. “More than you know.”

Looks up through shy lashes at a man who’s cheeks flush pink. It makes his freckles stand out, one by one. Like little constellations.

Jensen smiles, glances back down. Nudges at the floorboard again. “You know, you can call me. Uh, when you’re back in D.C. Can call whenever you want.”

Jared leans in. Hums, “And what if I called you everyday?”

“I’d answer,” he says, bottom lip caught in a tremble. The air settles.

“And what if I called and told you I missed all this? Missed you?”

A pause. The flutter of hearts. The rush of _possibility_.

Jensen swallows. “Jared, I —”

“There you are!” Adam bounds around the corner and nearly bowls Jared over. He’s got a peculiar smile on his face. “Jared, Doc wants to see you in his office. It’s important.”

“Kay,” Jared blinks, not breaking his gaze from Jensen, who looks like he’s holding a million words unsaid in that pretty mouth of his. Watches him shove his hands into his pockets and give Adam a playful shoulder check as he heads toward the porch, no doubt shuffling back down toward his cabin for the night.

There won’t be many more opportunities for the two of them to acknowledge this thing between them. Graduation is right around the corner and after that…

Future’s got no guarantees. Especially when you’re an addict.

Doc is seated in his desk chair when Jared enters the office.

“You wanted to see me?”

“Hey, Jared. Yes, have a sit down.”

Jared scuffles across the bear-skin rug and sits down opposite Doc’s desk, wondering what this meeting could possibly be about. As far as he knows, he’s on track to graduate, despite fucking around during the first few weeks at Jacob’s Ladder.

Doc takes a moment to appraise him with kind eyes before he speaks. “So, I’ve been in talks with your father —“

“My Dad?”

“Yes,” says Doc, gently.

Jared shifts in his seat. His heart races, for — in the thirty seconds between talking to Jensen and sitting here with Doc — reality is coming crashing down on him, harder than ever before. He’ll be leaving in a matter of days. Shipped back to where he got so goddamn miserable in the first place. Pulled away from the farm and the animals and the West Virginia clean air he's grown accustomed to.

He’ll miss the recovery boys. He’ll miss —

“After speaking with your father, I’m concerned that you won’t have an effective support system when you return home. This’ll make it very difficult to succeed in your recovery.”

Jared sinks. He knew it. He always knew it. That he was destined to be a drug addict. That he’d be hooked forever. Wouldn’t be able to resist the stuff. That he’s _weak_. His stomach churns with anxiety.

There’s a twinkle in Doc’s eye. “Jared, are you aware we’ve been renovating a house on the next property over?”

“The old farm house? On the hill? Rush said something about replacing the shingles…”

Doc nods. “We’re turning it into a sober living house where guys like you, who graduate from Jacob’s Ladder and need a place to transition, can live and work for us here on the ranch. We’ll pay ‘em a fair wage and they’ll have the freedom to use any of the facilities here — group meetings, drum circle, mess hall, you name it. Just until they’ve got a few more months under their belt and feel ready to re-enter the real world.” Doc smiles and leans forward. “Jared, how’d you like to help us launch the program? We’d like for you to stay with us a while longer, if you’re interested.”

Jared blinks. It’s a lot to take in. “Stay here? In a sober house?”

“Yes,” Doc nods. “But I warn you, it ain’t gonna be glamourous. Part of your paid work would be to help renovate the house — drywall, painting, roofing. Rush’ll teach you. He’s staying too. And Jeff.”

Jared can scarcely believe his ears. His heart thumps, over the moon. A grin spreads from ear to ear. He doesn’t have to think twice about it. Because there’s nothing for him back in D.C.

Here, the possibilities are endless. And there's at least one he's keen to explore.

“Yes. Absolutely. I’d love to, Doc. I would — _thank you_.”

Doc smiles, stands up and extends a hand. “Good man. Y'all three will move in right after graduation.”

Jared smiles and leaves Doc’s office in high spirits. Like a goddamn miracle, manifested in thin air, he’s been granted more time.

He’s gonna make damn well sure he doesn’t waste it.

~~~

Jared is busting at seams all night and next morning. At the breakfast table, he gulps down two glasses of fresh orange juice and stacks his flapjacks high, drowning them in sticky syrup. He’s itching to catch a glimpse of a certain sober coach, now that he knows he’ll be sticking around for another couple months.

“What’re you so giddy about?” quips Adam as he sips his morning joe. “Thinking about Elton John?” He fist bumps Billy-Bob.

Jared rolls his eyes. Can’t help but grin.

Bobby-Jon chimes in. “Yeah, why’re you so smiley? It’s freaking me out.”

At last, he sees a flash of plaid through the kitchen's saloon doors as Jensen dishes steel-cut oats into a bowl, chatting with Gus the cook. Jared flushes hot under the collar. Curses his body for reacting like this every time he sees him. Distracted, he shrugs, “Yeah, Elton John.”

After breakfast, Jared’s on pig duty for the morning. He spends the better part of an hour doling out slop, filling the troughs as fast as he can, before whistling over to the barn, heart beating like a drum. Jensen’s just finished trimming some lamb hooves.

“You as good with those trimmers on people?” Jared shakes the hair out of his eyes. “Curls are getting down past my ears now.”

“I can do an army crew cut, but something tells me that ain't your style,” Jensen grins. He sets down the clippers. Puts a hand on his hip, open and warm. “So, are you gonna tell me if you’re leaving on a jet plane or stickin’ around here or what? 'Cause, hell, whatever choice you made sure looks good on you.”

Jared blushes. His body swells in all the right places. “I’m, um - I'm gonna stay. Live and work at the sober house like Doc offered.”

The smile that spreads across Jensen’s face is like West Virginia sunshine. Pure and bright and radiant. Jensen has to bite his bottom lip to contain the heat. “You’re really staying?”

He’s _beautiful_ like this.

“Looks like you’re stuck with me for a few more months, Ackles.”

As if magnetized, Jensen takes a step forward, eyes blazing and intense. Reaches a hand out, fingers brushing at the open seam of Jared’s button-down. Grasping at nothing but fabric.

Jared’s heart is in his throat. He’s staring into bright green eyes that shine like emeralds. They’re so close. There’s an imperceptible tug on his shirt and the hum of an exhale — breathy and low. A barely-there _gasp_ slipped from one of their mouths, but whose it was is anyone’s guess.

There are sounds all around them — of Rush pulling up to the barn in the tractor, of Adam two stalls over horseshoeing Clyde, and the general whinnies and bleats of an active barnyard — but they all seem to melt away. The only thing that exists is the two of them, standing here face to face, scarcely two feet apart and _longing_ — eager to melt into each other and ride off into the sunset like a goddamn gay-ass cowboy movie.

As the _beep-beep-beep_ of the tractor grows louder, Jensen untangles his fingers from Jared’s shirt, takes a few steps back, and gives Rush the ‘okay’ to back it up. Can’t quite meet Jared’s eye as he finds a new spot for his hand, discreetly brushing at the back of Jared’s neck, fingers feathering at hair curls.

Jared’s going to _die._ Or erupt. Spill over in desire.

“Gotta get back to the pigs,” says Jared, all fidgety and nervous, body buzzing with how much he wants this. Wants to be touched by him.

He’s gonna jump Jensen’s bones in front of everyone if he doesn’t leave now.

Jensen nods, coughing to hide the husk in his voice. “Headed up to the cow shed. Daisy’s eight months pregnant. She’s gettin’ pretty bagged out.”

When Jared turns to leave, Jensen adds, “Hey, um, graduation soon...”

“Graduation soon,” Jared repeats, acknowledging the unspoken contract they've been holding each other accountable to for weeks.

The agreement that means, once Jared’s handed that certificate, he’s no longer Jensen’s resident. No longer his responsibility. After graduation, there’d be no forbidden bonds to break, no red tape or ethical dilemma. No holding back.

Jared never thought a piece of paper could matter so much.

Could set a jailbird free.


	16. Chapter 16

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

_____________________

Six days drag on like six months.

To survive it, Jared spends way longer in the bathroom than usual, palm wrapped around himself while his toes curl and his body shudders. Jeff thinks his roommate’s gone nympho.

But the night arrives at long last.

Everyone and their mothers (quite literally) are crammed into the dining room on the night of graduation. The kitchen table has been pushed to the wall, with trays of light sandwiches, cheese, crackers, and fresh vegetables spread across it. The recovery boys are peppered around the room, the graduates standing amongst brothers, sisters, parents, and friends. It’s a full house. Standing room only. Just Jared and Jeff are without loved ones present, so they stay on the periphery, hovering near the snack table and the sober coaches.

“I’d like to welcome everyone to Jacob’s Ladder,” announces Doc as people munch on carrots and celery. “Tonight’s a special night. We’re going to be celebrating five individuals who have made positive change in their lives and who’re graduating the program this evening. And they know sobriety is gonna be tough. But with discipline, devotion, and dedication, I have every confidence that each one of them will have success in their recovery.”

The crowd breaks into applause and the evening commences. Doc takes turns addressing each graduate and invites the staff and other boys to share stories of hope and success they’ve learned during their time on the farm. The air is electric with emotion. There are tears being shed by recovery boys and their families, as each one of them has the chance to tell each other what they mean to them, and to thank their friends and families for being patient and supportive as each one receives their graduation chip.

Jared watches with mixed emotions as each one of the guys breaks down in tears talking about their families. His father couldn’t be here. He’s away on business, as usual. Couldn’t be fucking bothered.

But at some point during Adam’s speech, he feels a little less alone. He turns his head. Somehow, Jensen had moved closer until they’d found themselves shoulder to shoulder. Jared inhales in relief and recovery, breathing him in. A life support system of one.

After the other five boys receive their chips, Doc finally turns to Jared and smiles.

“Last but not least. Jared Padalecki. This is a special young man we’re talking about here,” says Doc, which warms Jared’s heart. No one's ever called him _special_. “He’s stubborn as a mule, no doubt, but it’s been damn fine seein’ all the progress he’s made over these past few months. And, lucky for us, the animals won’t be missing his tender heart and gentle hands, as Jared’s gonna stay on with us for awhile longer to help us fix up the sober house on the hill.” The crowd breaks into polite applause and his belly warms when he hears little _yips_ and _whoops_ of ‘ _Yeah, Jared!’_

When it settles again, Doc asks if he’d like to say a few words.

There’s a frog in Jared’s throat. Suddenly, the room seems too quiet, but he’s got things to say, so he grins and bears it. Scratches at the back of his neck with his fingernails, imagining they’re someone else’s.

“Er, I guess there’s no other way of saying this… because any words I have can’t even begin to cover how much I owe to this place and to all the guys in it.” Feels his lip trembling, but he presses on. “I - I came here kicking and screaming. And I was an idiot, I know that now. But, even though I started this journey by sabotaging myself, you all took the time to actually _try_. To actually _care_ about me when I didn’t care about myself. Jacob’s Ladder made me realize there’s so much more to life when you’re sober. And this experience really means the world to me. So, thank you, Doc.”

Jared nearly paralyzes before this next part. He pinches his thigh through his jeans pocket to hold it together. When he half-turns toward the warm body standing next to him. Can feel tears burning in his eyes as he continues,

“And I, um, I can’t even begin to — to thank this guy here, for everything he’s done.”

Jared’s fully trembling now, fighting tears that stream down his cheeks as he nudges Jensen’s shoulder with his own. Nearly melts when he feels the warm weight of Jensen’s arm wrap around him and pull him into his side, tucked there close like a child. There are quiet sniffles and sobs heard around the room.

“He’s seen me at my worst and - and he’s really saved me. For the first time in my life, he makes me feel like I’m actually worth something. That I’m good enough.” He wipes his eyes with his sleeve, then shakes off the tears. “And there's so much more, but that’s all I have for now. Just… _thank you_.”

The room breaks into applause again and everyone whips out their tissues to dab their eyes. When the room gets quiet, Jensen squeezes Jared’s shoulder. Clears his throat.

“I’m not good at this stuff,” says Jensen, voice scratchy with emotion. “Hell, I couldn’t talk my way out of wet paper bag. But Jared’s family couldn’t be here tonight, and so I…” He clears his throat. Jared bites his lip, hearing the sudden break in Jensen’s voice and knowing how rare it is to hear him like this. “I just want him to know”—he squeezes Jared’s shoulder again, pulls him close—“just how proud I am of the man he’s becoming.”

Jared’s heart explodes. And there’s nowhere for the shrapnel to go — the room, the _ranch_ , isn’t big enough — so it just embeds in his chest, sentiment seeping out the bullet-holes, filling him up. It’s enough to make him collapse in on himself, but Jensen’s _got him_. Holds him tighter, wraps his arms around him, hugs him and holds him like it’s the end of the world and they’re the only two left in it.

There are sweet sighs and breathy sobs from the room, followed by more applause as the two embrace. Too soon, Jensen lets him go, gives his back a tender rub as he pinches the corners of his eyes to collect his own tears. Presses a _GRADUATE_ chip into Jared’s palm and folds his fingers closed.

Sober sincerity.

Doc moves on to give his closing remarks, but Jared can scarcely breathe, let alone pay attention, because of the way Jensen’s hand lingers on the small of his back, thumbing little circles that soothe Jared in ways he never knew he needed until now. The rest of the ceremony is a blur, but eventually, after rivers of tears have been cried and tiny sandwiches devoured, the crowd begins to dissipate, breaking off into groups to debrief with their families — to plan for the next stage of their recovery.

As Jared says his first round of goodbyes to Adam, Billy-Bob, and Bobby-Jon, he notices Jensen slip out the screen door and into the dark. Knows his feet are destined to follow.

There’s a warm breeze in the air as Jared steps outside a few minutes later, down the back porch steps and out into the night. The buzz and chatter of families slowly gives way to crickets and animal noises as his feet carry him across the lawn and _down, down, down_ towards the barn. A soft glow of light from within spills onto the dewy grass. Signs of life and love.

Jared takes a steadying breath before he steps into the light, knees weak as he ventures inside the barn doors. It’s quiet, too quiet, but there’s a presence that compels his feet forward…

He walks across the hay-strewn floor until, at last, near the back of the barn, shrouded in the greys and blues of moonlight through the window, Jensen Ackles stands, fiddling with some tools at his workstation. Jared pauses at Jensen's back, a few yards away, chewing at his lip and wondering where to begin.

Jensen doesn’t face him. Instead, he half-turns his head and softly utters, “You really felt like you weren’t worth anything?”

Jared swallows. Hushes, “Yeah. Until you came along. Gave me something to work toward. Something that mattered.”

Jensen turns around now, hands braced on the worktable at his back. “And what matters to you now, Jared?”

Jared takes a step forward. It’s time to be brave.

“This. _Us_ …”

The hitch in Jensen’s chest is audible. Shoulders rise and fall with ache and apprehension.

“You know there ain’t no coming back from this,” he utters, low and sincere. “Not once we cross that line.”

Jared takes another step, invades Jensen’s space.

“We’ve been crossing that line since I got here. Just didn’t realize it.” Pushes in, places his hands on the workbench on either side of him, boxing him in. Digs his _GRADUATE_ chip out of his back pocket and turns it in his fingertips between them. “Besides, I’m all graduated now.”

Jensen’s breath shudders. “Still feels… Dunno if I should be —“ He shakes his head as he locks eyes with Jared, looking wild and unbridled. “Tried to stop myself. I swear to god, I tried. Not sure I can stop it anymore...”

“Don’t want you to,” Jared leans in, magnetized. “I want this. Want us.”

There's a whimper-sound now, with urgency and arousal, as the space between them closes, inch by inch, until there’s nothing left but the sweet brush of lips, slow at first — tender and testing the waters. But then, with the press of mouths together, the _taste_ and _touch_ and rush of arousal heats their blood and they _connect_ , all boundaries and hesitations melting away.

Jensen’s hand clutches Jared’s jaw, holding it in place as he pushes in _deeper_ , devours Jared’s sugar mouth like he’s been starving too long. And Jared’s knees buckle under the dizzying slide of lips and tongue — of sweet tea and mint, sawdust and campfire smoke, throaty _hmms_ that make his head spin. He’s dizzy — topsy-turvy like Jensen’s got the bottom of his belly hook-line-sinkered and flipped inside out.

Their kiss is more than Jared could’ve imagined. And everything he’s ever wanted.

“Jesus, kid,” Jensen breathes as they break for oxygen, foreheads together, hands on jawbones, scrabbling at shirt-pockets. “Where’d you learn to kiss like that, huh?”

Jared's cheeks blush pale in the moonlight. “I've never kissed anyone like that.”

Through his star-crossed eyes, Jared can see that perfect Jensen half-smile, stretching into dimples. Hears the little huff of laughter and then everything goes black and pink again because Jensen’s mouth — his perfect, beautiful mouth — is back at it, pushing and teasing in a way that makes Jared whimper.

Heart-flutters and ache-spots.

Floating. Euphoria. High.

After a kiss that stretches on for lifetimes, Jensen pulls back enough so he can get a good look at Jared — eyes scan his features, checking his vitals.

Pupils dilated. Cheeks flushed. Pulse racing. Triple check. His hands cradle Jared’s cheekbones as he studies him, holding him like a precious jewel.

The added scrutiny makes Jared feel something utterly foreign to him. It makes him _shy_.

“ _Whaaat_ …” he whines, curious about Jensen’s intensive study. “Did I grow a second nose or something?”

“It’s just,” hums Jensen, “Christ, I can’t get over how goddamn pretty you are.”

Jared melts. Scuffles his shoes in the dirt. “Shut up…”

“I’m serious,” says Jensen, thumbs tracing around his features — nose, eyebrows, cheekbones, lips. “I never knew people like you existed. Never dreamed —” He sighs, mouth trembling. "Never dreamed you'd let me touch you like this."

The way Jensen’s looking at him feels like something greater than life itself. Something sacred. To be honoured. And Jared can’t stand for their mouths to be so far apart. Feels like empty space without him already. He kisses Jensen — a bit messier this time, a little less careful, more desperate. One rife with teenaged angst, raging hormones, and _h_ _aven’t-had-sex-in-months_ urges.

And Jensen meets him there, hums and moans into Jared’s mouth as he sinks back against the work station, letting Jared scrabble and claw at him in desperation. It’s hot and messy and, Jared being Jared, gets a little too eager and bucks his hips forward…

They moan in tandem as Jared’s stubborn erection grinds against Jensen’s. It’s exhilarating, feeling how much each of them are wanted, _desired_. And Jared can’t help himself. Starts to go all Washington, D.C. on Jensen. Gets pushy, leans in and grinds those lanky hipbones again, indulging in the desperate dry friction.

“ _Wait, wait, wait..._ Hold up, kid,” Jensen whisper-laughs after the third grind of Jared’s hips. He nudges him back, making some space between them. He’s smiling and trembling, at once breathy and breathless. “Not here.”

“Why not?” Jared puts on his best pouty face, fluttery eyelashes included.

“Because,” he says, taking a steadying breath and gently brushing Jared’s bangs out of his eyes. “I don’t wanna rush this. Don’t want it to end.”

“Who says it has to?”

Jensen nuzzles his nose against Jared’s before kissing him deep, making toes curl. His eyelashes flutter as Jensen’s lips pull away from his own again. Feels like he’s going cross-eyed. Jared’s teenaged hips want to roll forward, connect with something hard. _Fuck_.

“Ackles, you’re such a tease,” he breathes, grinning against the side of Jensen’s cheek.

Jensen returns the smile. His hand finds Jared’s and interlaces their fingers. Pulls him away from the workstation. “Come.”

They head out to the back of the barn, propping themselves up against a bale of hay and staring out at the pasture, the stars in the sky, just like they had on the first night of Jared’s detox.

It seems like a lifetime ago.

This time, they can be more relaxed. More _themselves_. Jensen can snuggle in close, letting his thigh graze Jared’s as they watch the blue clouds pass over the moon. Jared can tilt his head to rest against Jensen’s shoulder. Hand-in-hand, warm bodies like puzzle pieces, fitting together in the way they were designed to.

Time stretches on. Infinite serenity.

“When did you know that you liked me?” Jared hums. The question floats in the air near his lips.

Jensen strokes his hand. Rubs at Jared’s thumbnail. “Way too quick, if 'm honest. And all the while knowin' I shouldn't be feeling stuff like that... Not for a resident. Not for someone I swore a duty to protect.” He takes a breath, squeezes Jared’s hand. Gets quiet. “Spent more’n a few sleepless nights thinkin' I should up and quit this place. That I was guilty of something.”

“What changed your mind?”

Jensen glances at him. “Like I said, hell if I could do a damn thing to control it. Did all I could not to feel a certain way about you. But it don’t work like that, I guess.”

“Yeah,” hums Jared. He knows. This thing had snuck up on Jared so fast he can hardly tell which way is up.

“Think it started around the time you got clean," says Jensen. "When you quit bein’ such a jack-ass.”

Jared chuckles. “I was such a little shit…”

“You sure were,” says Jensen, grinning. “But I got kinda fond of you when you tried to jump the fence. Almost made me shoot poor Hester.”

“Asshole,” says Jared, elbowing him in the ribs and remembering his near-miss with Hester the wolf. “You wanna know when I first liked you?”

Jensen blinks. There’s a curious twinkle in his eye. “Still can't really get my head around that you do…”

“Shut up,” teases Jared, turning his head until they’re inches apart, noses nearly grazing. He bats his eyelashes, letting them tickle at the apples of Jensen’s cheeks. “It was at the barn dance. It was the first time I got to see a different side of you…”

“A two-left-footed one?”

“Okay, Mr. Modest. No, the way you were charming all those old ladies, your hands on their hips, leading them around the floor… I couldn’t sleep that night. Kept thinking about you doing that with me. You touching me like that.”

Jensen shifts, eyes getting soft. Exhales warm heat on Jared’s lips. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” says Jared, so close that everything gets blurry. “Thought about you grabbing me and pulling me in… kissing me in front of everyone like you meant it. _Wanting_ me.”

Jensen hums, low and gravelly. Their lips meet, tongues sinking into wet heat, breathing into each other like they’d be deprived of oxygen for too long. Jensen’s fingers tighten around Jared’s jaw, holding him there, controlling their movements.

Jared melts under his touch. Back in D.C., he’d always made sure he’s the one in control. But with Jensen, _god_ , it scared him to think of the things Jared would let him do.

“Wish I’d’a known,” hums Jensen between kisses. “Thought maybe I felt it a couple times… but, hell, I never dreamed you’d look at me that way.”

Jared’s toes curl, those words sending a rush straight to his groin. His teenaged brain is going haywire — wants to rut, to grind, to get fucked by someone warm. Wants Jensen’s hands on him, sliding up and down, over slippery ridges. At his mercy, under his thumb. He’s set to erupt from simple fingertips on jawbones.

Can’t even imagine what the rest of Jensen’s body must feel like.

“You sure you wanna take things slow?” he pleads one last time, lashes fluttering.

Jensen grins, that stupid crooked half-smile that sends Jared into a tailspin.

“Not sure you can handle me all at once, darlin.’”


	17. Chapter 17

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

_____________________

Four months and one day.

Feels like a new beginning. A fresh start.

Jared’s cleared out his room and helped load and unload his, Jeff's, and Rush’s boxes from the trailer hitch hooked up to the John Deere tractor. A three-minute ride up the hill and he’s there — standing in front of the sober house on the hill, his new home for the next few months. A transition from farm to freedom.

The place isn’t much to look at — the walls have paint chips, half-finished hardwood floors, Gyprock dust everywhere. It’s a fixer-upper, to be sure. But it’s just what Jared needs. He’ll live there, adjusting to sober life just outside the ranch, and work on making the house livable under Jacob Ladder’s employ.

It feels important. Feels like he’s doing something worthwhile.

Jensen is happy that Jared’s sticking around. He doesn’t say it so much as he shows it. There was an extra spring in his step around the breakfast table this morning. Jared even caught him _whistling_ as he left for the barn.

Last night, the two of them had stayed up until curfew, leaning on hay bales and each other under the stars. Picked out a few constellations they liked (Jared's got a soft spot for Cygnus; Jensen’s fond of little Lyra) and kissed each other underneath them. Held hands until Jared crept back into his farm house bedroom, gazing out his window at the dim light in Jensen’s cabin.

Fell asleep with a smile on his face and a heart so full it could burst.

The boys moved in at 7am and a half-hour later the three of them are already getting to work on the drywall. Rush was a carpenter before he found crystal meth, so he shows Jared and Jeff how to mount it and spackle the cracks. It’s back-breaking work, but rewarding — knowing that every bit of effort they put into it will pay dividends later. That, like sobriety and pepper-planting, they will reap what they sow.

After a productive first day, they wash up and walk down to the ranch for dinner. Like Doc said, they’re still welcome to use any of the facilities and classes at Jacob’s Ladder, the only difference is now they aren’t mandatory. Instead, it’s up to them to design a recovery plan for their lives — what works for them and their recovery.

Personally, Jared plans to spend whatever free time he has on the ranch. That’s where Jensen is. That’s where he’s happiest.

“Good first day, boys?” asks Jensen as he spoons a bit of caesar salad onto his plate.

Now that Adam, Billy-Bob, and Bobby-Jon have left Jacob’s Ladder, there’s room at the table for everyone, even the staff. It won’t last long. Another crop of drug-addled boys are set to arrive in a couple days. Still, Jared’s skin ignites when Jensen takes up a spot next him. Can smell the sense-memories of last night. And it’s killing him in all the good ways.

_Can’t touch. Can’t touch._

Jeff laughs. “Nearly flattened Padalecki with a sheet of drywall.”

“Asshole. I got the hang of it after awhile...”

Jensen grins. He elbows at Jared’s bicep. “Least you got some muscle in those arms now.”

 _Dick._ Jensen should know he can’t do stuff like that without sending Jared into a frenzy. He blushes, suddenly shy, “I’ve always had muscles...”

Rush nearly chokes on his iced tea, “Yeah, in your right wrist.”

“At least I don’t have huge jaw muscles from running my mouth all the fucking time.”

Everyone laughs, a chorus of ‘ _oohs_ ’ and _‘ahhs_ ’ filling the room.

Jensen chuckles too, shrugs at Rush. “Well, he ain’t lyin’.”

After dinner, Rush and Jeff head back up to the sober house to relax while Jared stays behind under the guise of visiting the horses. He knows Jensen tends barn every Monday night, so he’s not surprised to find him there, brushing Sadie in the quiet. Jared picks up his own brush and starts up, wordlessly, on the other side of Sadie’s coat. Feels a rush of contentment as Jensen’s eyes meet his over the horse’s back.

“Must be real fond of Sadie if you’d rather visit her than play Xbox with the guys.”

Jared raises an eyebrow. “You’re right. Although she’s kind of a cock-tease.”

"Ouch, Padalecki.”

They groom Sadie in silence for a few minutes until Jensen rounds the front of her with his brush and moves to Jared’s side. Jared watches, transfixed, as Jensen rubs circles into her coat, coaxing and massaging down her hide, inching closer and closer to him. At last, Jensen turns his head, leans in, and catches Jared’s lips in his own. And Jared kisses him back, dropping his brush to the floor and clutching at Jensen’s chest — melting into him like he’ll never let go.

After a moment, Jensen whispers, “Been thinkin’ about you all day.”

“Me too. Was thinking about you touching me.”

Without any further prompting, Jensen reaches down and cups Jared’s dick through his jeans, gives it a nice squeeze. “Like this?”

His knees nearly buckle as Jensen rubs and caresses him right here in the horse stall.

“Yeah,” he shudders. Flutters his eyelashes closed under the spell of his touch and those pink, pouty lips. Leans into Jensen's chest, hides his face against his neck, breathing heavy into beard scruff. Drags teeth and lips along soft skin. "Missed you."

Jensen pulls him closer now, drops the horse brush and wraps his free hand around the small of Jared's back. Presses more insistently at Jared's aching cock, squeezing and rubbing it with his palm until Jared makes mewling noises.

"Makin' Sadie blush..."

Jared huffs a laugh against Jensen's skin. His hands, too, soon find their way down to Jensen’s cock, fingers trembling as he fumbles at it like a goddamn virgin. Feels thick and warm and the thought of seeing it, getting his mouth on it someday, makes Jared weak. There’s a too-soon pressure building inside him, deep and needy.

He's never felt more like a goddamn horny teenager.

"G-gonna come if you keep going.”

_Jesus. I'm such a lame-o dork._

“Okay," says Jensen, through a smile. "Lemme see you then.”

He tips Jared’s chin up with the crook of his finger until they’re meeting eye-to-eye.

And Jared could die of embarrassment with how desperate he must look. Eyes heavy-lidded, cheeks pink, breathy huffs of air, and _moans_ that spill from his lips like a fucking girl. It’s humiliating, how quickly he’s gonna lose it, but he can’t stop himself — can’t help but start to spill over when he’s locked into those green eyes.

“Hell, kid, you’re beautiful.”

And that does it. Jared comes like a goddamn eighteen-year-old, soaking his shorts and dampening Jensen’s palm through thin jeans. Buckles under the pleasure and starts to sink towards the floor until Jensen pulls him back up. Flushes red and fucked-out under his gaze, his clumsy hands still fumbling at the front of Jensen's Levi's.

Then Jensen takes his hands in his own, wraps Jared’s grip around the shape of his thick cock and squeezes it once. “Gonna make you wait for this.”

Jared’s lips find Jensen’s mouth again, melting into it. Surrendering under someone else's command for the first time in his life. Jensen wraps Jared’s arms around him and they kiss and kiss and kiss, like two kids in the back of an old Chevy, learning how to love each other.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: **This chapter describes the stillbirth of an animal.** If you are sensitive to that sort of thing, please proceed with caution and/or scroll down to about halfway through the chapter.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

_____________________

Stripping down to your skivvies is something Jared’s way too comfortable with.

Stripping floors is all new territory.

It’s a painstaking task, down on his hands and knees, day in, day out, scraping and pulling the old varnish off the hardwood, sanding it and making space for new shellac. By mid-afternoon, his lower back feels like it’s got a crick in it the size of Texas, and his knees are bound to have purple bruises by tomorrow. Still, as he showers and scrubs himself down, he feels like he’s accomplished something. Feels good to chip away at the sober house, their _home_ , putting it together, piece by piece.

After he towels off and whips up a quick ham and cheese sandwich in the kitchen, he heads to the living room, where Rush and Jeff are still in work clothes, unwinding.

“You guys coming to group?” asks Jared, pulling on a black Joy Division T-shirt.

“Fuckin’ tired, man,” says Rush, who in all likelihood is gonna stay flaked out on the couch watching _Judge Judy_ all afternoon.

“Yeah, I’ll be down in a bit,” says Jeff, slapping a piece of bologna onto a mustard-covered slice of bread.

“See you there.”

Jared slips on his boots and heads out the door and down to the ranch. The afternoon sun is starting to get low on the horizon and Jared has to squint through it to see the Ranch. It’s a few minutes’ walk, but he eventually gets there. Pokes his head into the living room before Craig lets him know he’ll be running the group on the patio today because there’s less of them here. Jared goes outside and sits in his favourite rocking chair, waiting and watching the coloured leaves fall while the others show up.

There’s anticipation in his blood like there always is when he knows he’s going to see Jensen, like his very molecules can sense when he’s nearby. Soon enough, when there’s three of them assembled (Jeff slides in at the last minute), Jared’s heart skips a beat when he sees that familiar bowlegged gait trudging up the yard from down at the barn.

“Lo’ everyone,” says Jensen as he finds a chair, wipes his hands on his work pants. He’s more sullen than normal, Jared notices. Doesn’t make much eye contact.

“Let’s start. I’m Craig. I’m an addict. (‘ _Hi Craig_.’) I want to touch base with you two.” He points to Jeff and Jared. “See how you’re doing. What’s been difficult for you this week? What’s been good?”

Jeff starts, taking the others through his ups and downs while Jared zones out. He’s much more interested in Jensen and the fact that he’s looking particularly downtrodden. Jared wonders what that’s all about. And he fights a particularly strong urge to lean over and kiss the pout right off those melancholy lips. It’s been a couple days since they’ve done that. Jensen’s been busy.

“Jared, let’s go to you now. Anything you wanna share with the group? How’s the first week at the sober house?”

Jared shifts, forcing his brain to get back into therapy mode. “Oh, um, it’s good. There’s a shit-ton to get done up there. Keeps us busy.”

Craig nods. “And how’s your recovery going? Anything you’re having trouble with?”

“Not really,” says Jared. “I mean, it gets lonely up there at night, when all the lights are off. I’m so used to hearing Gus rattling pots and pans around, or Adam snoring from the next room.”

He neglects to mention the part about how he can’t see the light in the window of Jensen’s cabin from the sober house. The sight of it from his bedroom window used to give him comfort. In any case, he can feel Jensen’s eyes on him now. Can feel their loving burn across his skin. It’s the best cure for loneliness, those eyes.

Craig nods. “Any change in routine can be unsettling. It can feel like we’re drifting around with nothing secure to grab onto. It’s okay. You’ll adjust. You’re not alone.”

Jared spends the rest of the meeting thinking up excuses as to why he should hang around the ranch after supper. When the meeting ends, however, he realizes he doesn’t need one. Jensen walks right up to him in the midst of chairs scraping and light chatter. His jaw is set in a line.

“You busy tonight?”

“Was gonna reorganize my underwear drawer… So, no.”

Jensen nods, curtly. “Will you come down to the cow shed after dinner? Need help with something.”

“Sure,” Jared nods, sensing that something’s up. “You’re not gonna join us?”

“No, gotta get back. See you.”

Jared thinks about those sunken-looking shoulders trudging back down to the barn for the entire dinner. Can barely concentrate enough to slap a couple of roast beef sandwiches together, let alone eat. The entire meal passes in a blur as he takes absent-minded bites of his sandwich until it’s gone. Wraps the other one up in a paper bag to bring to Jensen and excuses himself.

The sun has begun to set now, bathing the barn in warm oranges and yellows. It’s really beautiful like this, Jared thinks, as he makes his way over to the cow shed. It seems empty when he pokes his head in, but upon further inspection, he notices an old huddle of blankets piled at the other end. He walks past all the other cows, neck bells tinkling in the sunset, until he comes to the last stall.

In it, Daisy is laying on her side, breathing heavily, while Jensen kneels beside her, hand on her distended belly. He looks up when he hears Jared’s footsteps.

“She’s ready,” he says, with a heavy breath. “Strap on a pair of those gloves.”

Jared’s heart races as it dawns on him what he’s about to do. He’s never been a part of anything like this. The bringing of new life into the world. His hands tremble as they slide the thick gloves on. He kneels next to Jensen.

“Put your hands here,” he says, directing them to Daisy’s swollen belly. Jensen blinks, a strange sadness in his eyes. “You feel the calf moving?”

Jared presses gently on her belly, readjusting his hands to try to sense any sort of shimmies or kicks. After a moment, he admits, “No, I don’t feel anything.”

Jensen nods, his eyes sad. “I know. It’s a stillborn.”

It’s difficult to understand the rush of emotions Jared experiences at those words — whether it’s injustice, pity, or despair. “You mean… she’s not gonna —”

“We’ll help her deliver it,” says Jensen, melancholy in his voice. “But she don’t realize it’s dead yet. Won’t until it’s born. Till she sees it.”

Jared bites his lip and chokes back unexpected tears. “Tell me what to do.”

They work in tandem for the next two hours, coaxing and heaving, until they’re covered in sweat and placenta. Daisy is remarkably docile through the whole thing, even when Jensen, at last, is able to grasp the unborn calf’s front hooves with a chain and help pull it free. Jared helps him lower the poor thing to the floor, where it lays still, a lump of fur and flesh.

Jared watches, helpless, as Jensen kneels down to clean it off, pouring warm water on it and wiping its face with a cloth. There’s so much empathy in the little stall, it’s making Jared’s eyes burn. And without the dull haze of OxyContin, everything feels so raw. So _real_.

As Daisy starts sniffing around her lifeless calf, Jared doesn’t think he can take it. Feels like overwhelming sadness is going to burst through his chest and turn the world dark. He watches as Daisy nudges at it a couple times and, when it doesn’t move, she let’s out a low noise that makes his knees buckle.

Jensen strokes her gently. “I know, girl. I know…”

Daisy spends a few minutes mooing in mourning and licking at her stillborn calf. She head-butts it once as a last ditch effort to make it move. To make it alive. Then she lets out a final wail that rattles Jared’s bones from head to toe.

_This is too much. Run, run, run._

_Can't possibly feel all of this and not die. Pills, pills, pills._

He catches Jensen’s eyes — that melancholy, bright green gaze, and it nearly kills him. Because those eyes have seen things like this before. Have seen actual _people_ die and been powerless to stop it.

Jared’s never felt closer to him than he does in this moment. Like he’s caught a glimpse of Jensen’s soul. And, somehow, he pushes down his own feelings to make room. Knows exactly what to do.

“I’ll get the shovel,” says Jared, prompting a single nod from Jensen, who rests his head against the side of Daisy’s. Who needs to be alone for awhile.

Jared leaves the shed and lets his heart break for the both of them.

Spends the next hour grave digging.

~~~

When Jared finishes, it’s well past sundown and into the night. Every distant ' _moo_ ' from across the lawn makes his body wrack with loneliness. Feels like persecution. He's not used to feeling everything and nothing.

At last, he returns to the cow shed, covered in dirt and sweat. Jensen hasn’t left Daisy’s side and he looks so much smaller, more fragile, than Jared remembers.

“Come on,” says Jared, extending a hand down to help Jensen up. “It’s time.”

He takes it. Wipes his brow with his sleeve and nods. “Let’s get this over with.”

They gather up the dead calf and wrap it in a blanket, letting Daisy give it one last goodbye before they carry it out to the grave Jared’s dug at the edge of the forest. He’s about to grab the shovel again when Jensen grips its handle. Clenches his jaw, locks up tight.

“Let me do this, okay?”

Jared nods. Knows well enough to let him be alone with this. So Jared returns to the cow shed, pets Daisy and tries his best to soothe her while he cleans up her pen, puts the blankets and birthing tools away, lets her lay down and rest. Soon enough, Jensen returns, grimy and dirt-ridden, just like Jared.

“Stay the night?” Jensen asks, a strange mix of intensity and vulnerability in his eyes that Jared’s never seen before. Makes his blood rush. They’d just gone through something. Shared it together. Brought them even closer, somehow.

Jared nods.

They cross the field in silence until they reach Jensen’s cabin. The rest of the ranch is sleeping soundly now. They’re the only ones left awake.

The squeak of the cabin door seems to echo across the field and, when they step across the threshold, the silence is engulfing. They keep the lights off, letting the moonlight bathe them through the window. Jensen’s boots thud across the wood floor until he slides them off, heavy. His eyes, dark and intense, rake over Jared’s body in a way that makes him weak at the knees. He watches as Jared stays put.

“You comin’ in?”

Jared steps on his heels to slip off his boots and takes a few steps inside, heart racing. He hasn’t set foot in this place since his detox.

“Weird being back here. A lot’s changed since the last time. I feel like a different person.”

“You kinda were,” says Jensen, peeling off his plaid button-down and letting it fall to the floor. “Everything gets different when you get sober. Same goes when you fall for s—“ He hitches his breath, cuts himself off, chest heaving at the almost-confession.

It’s a slip of the tongue and a betrayal of the heart. He looks at the floor, cheeks flushing pink as he frigs with his belt buckle. Undoes it and shucks off his jeans, leaving him in a sweat-soaked tee and briefs that cling to him just right. He nods towards the bathroom, where the promise of a hot shower beckons their filth-ridden skin.

“Take your shit off.”

Jared swallows and nods. Jared starts to strip, a bit more clumsy and nervous than Jensen had. Realizes he’s shy. He blushes, sheepish. “Guess you’ve seen me naked once before.”

“Not like this,” says Jensen, licking his bottom lip, the wetness glimmering in the moonlight. He rakes his eyes over Jared before tugging his T-shirt up over his head and tossing it aside.

Jared nearly gasps at how beautiful he is — not ripped like a Chippendale, but soft muscle tone from all the heavy lifting on the farm. Strong chest with just a touch of hair. Clean skin that contrasts with the mucky grime that coats his arms. He watches as Jensen bites his bottom lip, dips a filthy hand into his briefs and grabs hold of his package. Grips its heaviness as he pushes his underwear off with the other hand.

“Hurry up,” he says, barely covering himself, tempting Jared in a way that makes his mouth water with want of seeing it. He turns and walks into the bathroom, giving Jared a devastating taste of his hindquarters. Thick thighs, thicker ass.

The sound of the shower starts up and Jared begins to tremble. He's nervous but quickly ditches the rest of his clothes, his own erect cock getting caught on his waistband, before following him into the bathroom.

The light is off but the steam from the hot water makes a beautiful mist in the moonlight. Jensen’s already in the shower and Jared’s keen to see him in all his glory, at last. He pulls back the edge of the curtain.

_Holy fucking shit._

Jensen’s body resembles a marble statue, slicked up and glistening a pale blue. Jared takes a minute to soak him in — the slight brush of chest hair, trailing all the way down his perfect belly until it reaches _oh, oh God_ . . . A drool-worthy, heavy-hung cock, dripping wet and half hard in the water. Jared salivates.

He steps inside the shower and Jensen, like a tease, turns away from him to face the stream of water, soaking himself, running hands through his cropped hair and making his gorgeous back muscles ripple. Jared bites his lip as his eyes meet Jensen’s curvy ass, shiny and smooth.

“You’re perfect,” Jared whispers, inching forward. He’s taller than Jensen without his work boots on, so he presses himself up against that beautiful back and leans in, tucking his chin down over Jensen’s shoulder and rubbing their faces together.

And it’s nuzzled there, Jared can feel it. Something unspoken that Jensen needs tonight. Something that’ll make up for all the sadness and loss inside him, stinging like raw nerves. An intimacy that’ll indulge the emotions stirred up from hours of dead-delivering and grave-digging.

Jared moves his hand around Jensen’s slippery waist and down, down, _down_ , until he finds his cock.

“ _Unnn,_ ” Jensen keens as Jared grips him tight, lets his hand slide from base to tip, lazy at first, slow pulls, loose tugs. Makes him unravel.

“I'm here,” he breathes, hot along Jensen’s collarbone as he strengthens his pulls. Tightens his fist and fucks the head with slow intention.

Jensen moans and leans an arm on the shower wall to brace himself. Jared slides his free hand around Jensen’s waist, pulling him closer to Jared’s warm body, slotting them together like spoons. Jensen whimpers at the closeness, bucking gently, _lovingly_ , into Jared’s hand, feeling his bones start to melt. Ruts his ass against Jared’s dick until it finds a warm place to _slip-slide_ back and forth. Jared can feel him shaking, ready to blow already. Pent up emotion.

“It's okay,” whispers Jared, like a prayer, as Jensen slides himself back and forth in rhythm. Kisses his way up Jensen’s neck and jaw until he finds his lips, crashing against each other in heady bliss. Neither of them will last much longer. Both know tonight isn’t about prolonged love making. No holding out after what they’d witnessed together.

They let slip and let slide, breathing and moaning into each other’s mouths until finally, there’s a breaking point when everything changes — when the desire, the _intimacy_ , peaks and there’s no denying what’s about to happen. With a moan that makes Jared’s heart stop, Jensen comes, spreading achy want all over Jared’s hand. Just the feel of the slippery seed on his skin — the _smell_ of it — pushes Jared over the edge, spilling love in tight, dark places that he wants to know more about.

They breathe into each other, clinging to that last warm, wet kiss, before Jared turns him around until they're facing each other, hot under the water. Jensen’s eyes are wet from quiet tears. He’s not quite ready to speak yet. So Jared grabs a bar of soap, lathers up a nearby sea-sponge and starts rubbing at Jensen’s skin.

He starts at his shoulders, caressing and massaging and sloughing off dead skin — _tired_ skin. Lathers the soap bubbles up and works his way down his arm and back up again, taking extra care around his armpit, works his way across the chest to the other arm. And Jensen melts into it, closing his eyes and letting his head fall onto Jared's shoulder. Jared figures it must be so long since Jensen’s been taken care of by anyone. But he lets him soothe and scrub — lather, rinse, repeat. Makes these pretty little mouth sounds that echo off his skin and the porcelain. Gets his knees all weak when Jared washes his hair, massaging circles into his scalp before rinsing him with hot water.

A cleansing ritual. Purification. Baptism.

When they’re done, there are no words exchanged between them except silent ones. A grateful gaze (‘ _thank you’)_ or a half-smile (‘ _anything, always’_ ). They spend a few minutes toweling off. Getting dry again. Jensen offers a clean T-shirt and boxer shorts for Jared to sleep in. And slipping on Jensen’s clothing for the second time in his life fills Jared with such a warm rush, like he’s being swaddled in him. Like he's stitching himself into his threads forever.

“There’s a roast beef sandwich in the fridge,” says Jared as he crawls into bed.

Jensen hums in acknowledgment as he slips his own boxer shorts and T-shirt on. He crawls into bed and slides under the sheets like Jared.

In the dark, Jared closes his eyes and soaks in the sound of Jensen’s breathing. _Four counts in, four counts out._ Like clockwork. Before long, Jensen rolls over to face him, wraps his arms around his waist and pulls him close until they’re all wrapped up together. Runs a thumb along Jared’s soft cheek and down to his lips before kissing him — gentle and sweet.

A soft whisper — and a shaky one — floats from the darkness to Jared’s ear,

“When did you know you were... different?”

“When I was eight,” Jared whispers back. Even as a child, he'd recognized the funny feeling he got whenever he looked at other boys. “When did you?”

A pregnant pause. No response but a tightening of arms around Jared’s waist, savouring his touch and drawing him close.

There’s not a lot Jared knows about Jensen’s past, but the way he curls into him tonight, the way he’s compelled to, is a study in vulnerability. In manhood. In _service_ , as he clings to Jared like a life preserver. And in the darkness, just before they drift to sleep, Jared utters, whisper-soft,

“Not gonna hurt you.”

Jensen grips Jared like a vice, tugs him tighter and breathes in his skin. The last thing Jared feels before falling asleep is a weak nod against his neck.

Of secrets shared and absolved.


	19. Chapter 19

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

_____________________

Jared wakes up to a warm mouth on him.

It’s groggy at first, his brain slow to awaken. But soon the pleasure pull at his bellybutton tugs at his cerebral cortex, coaxing him gently out of dreams.

It feels _so good_ , that mouth. How it engulfs and licks and swirls, tonguing around Jared’s ridges and holding him deep inside. Holy warmth. Soon, Jared’s fingers find their way down, under the sheets, to meet a head of cropped hair, moaning and tasting, slow, like he’s at worship. Jared runs his hand through that hair, lightly pressing, pretends for a moment that he’s got any sort of control. That he could make Jensen do whatever he wanted.

Doesn’t hurt to ask.

“Inside,” Jared hums sleepily after a few divine minutes of morning head. And Jared gets his wish — strong hands turn him over onto his belly as beautiful lips kiss around his curves, inner thighs, ass cheeks, until _ohhh, just there_. Jensen’s tongue gets inside, nudges deep and licks at him like Jared tastes like goddamn cherry pie. Hums and teases and _honours_ it. Kisses into it like a mouth.

Jared’s never felt like this. Like he can never get enough of him. Not ever.

When Jared gets a sweat-sheen on the small of his back, when he’s shaking and mewling like a kitten, only then does Jensen relent, kissing slowly up his ass, spine, shoulder blades, and neck, until he’s aligned alongside him like a big spoon, arms wrapped around Jared's middle, hugging him close. Jared’s not sure exactly when they both lost their clothes, but it’s warm and soft and languid and Jared’s gonna _lose it_ if Jensen keeps shuddering in his ear like that. He wraps a thick palm around Jared’s aching cock, milking it to the rhythm of their shared breaths.

_There’s nothing better than this. It’s addiction. It’s bliss._

He could really get dependent on this.

An orgasm builds from his toes to his heart and before he knows it he's coming all over Jensen’s fist. Spills until he’s shaking and shivering at how gentle Jensen treats him. How he’s some impossible mix of alpha and beta, savage and sweet.

“Mornin’,” hums Jensen in his ear. He silences Jared’s feeble reply with a kiss, sliding his tongue along Jared’s mouth and reminding him of exactly where that tongue has been — how it tastes of salt, bitters, and beautiful earth. It makes Jared’s head spin. That and the scent of fresh jizz on the sheets.

They lay, cuddled and cozy, in their warm cocoon until, like clockwork, the rooster begins to crow. Jensen sighs and gives Jared a squeeze around the belly.

“Gotta get my ass up,” he says, soft in Jared’s ear. “Horses need me.”

“Horses can wait,” Jared whines, turning so they’re face-to-face and burrowing in closer, face tucked in the crook of his neck, slotted together like puzzle pieces. Snakes his arms around Jensen’s chest like a vice grip. “ _Stay_.”

Jensen hums, low and breathy. Torn.

“Wish I could.” He runs a hand down Jared’s back, smoothing it along his ass-cheeks, fingers drifting dangerously close to the spot where Jared needs him most. “There's a new resident gettin' here this morning. Doc’s away, so I gotta help him settle in.” He breathes in the scent of Jared’s skin and moans. Mumbles, “Gotta get all my chores done before then,” as if talking himself into it.

“Fuck you for being so responsible or whatever,” sighs Jared, brushing his lips along Jensen’s neck, jawline, and lips until they’re kissing — wet and sloppy in the morning. Makes sure Jensen remembers his mouth for the rest of the day. Does his best to make it hard for him to leave.

When their mouths part, Jensen smiles. He rolls over till he’s standing at the side of the bed, pulling the sheets off a very naked Jared. “Up, Padalecki.”

Jared stretches out on his back like a cat, bites his lip and hushes, “Kay,” as his hand finds his own dick. He palms it slowly till it’s half-hard again. Draws his knees up like a goddamn whore and lets them fall open.

This time it’s Jensen’s turn to bite his lip and stare. He _wants_.

Jared’s never been much of a bottom, but with Jensen, it's the only thing that makes sense. Like he's a brand new person or something. A blank slate.

Ol’ Manny crows again and Jensen exhales in regret as he starts pulling his work clothes on, watching Jared lazily palm his cock, splayed out on the bed and showing off like a slut.

“You know,” says Jensen, a low purr, “I'd keep your ass here all day if I could. On lock down. Strapped to the bed just like that.”

Jared abandons his cock and sits up on his elbows. “You’re into that shit? Ackles, you freak.”

Jensen shrugs, half-smiles. “Not _into_ anything. Just like the way you look all spread out on my bed like that." He bites his lip. "Goddamn it. Really want that ass to be here when I get back.”

“It can be...”

Jensen shakes his head, pulls on his work boots. Smiles, “And how’s the sober house gonna get finished? You and I both know we got responsibilities.”

Jared groans, rolls over onto his belly and sulks into the pillow. Mumbles, “I guess.”

At that whine, Jensen, fully dressed for the barn, leans down and gives him a kiss between his shoulder blades. Hums in his ear, “Thanks for last night.” Then — _ow!_ — slaps him hard on bare ass, leaving a bright pink handprint. He grins, “Something to think about for next time.”

He exits the cabin for the day, leaving Jared to daydream of strong hands and thick fingers. And to pine over him until the sun comes up.

~~~

The new crop of residents arrive at Jacob’s Ladder over the course of the week. The last one pulls up on a Friday. He’s in rough shape. Still high, just hours away from his last hit, like Jared had been. Came here with bad intentions. Stubborn. Petulant.

Jared watches the whole thing from the sober house roof, where he’s helping Rush hammer down some shingles. If he squints, he can just make out the shape of the new guy getting dropped off in a Ford pick-up, looking disheveled, like he’s just been to hell and back. Or a 48-hour bender. The unmistakable outline of Jensen Ackles steps out to greet him.

Claps a hand on his shoulder.

Jared _hates_ that.

He frowns. Jealousy tugs at his belly. And he knows he’s being crazy. That it’s Jensen’s fucking job to greet the new guys (although he hadn’t been there when Jared arrived…) and help them along the path to sobriety. Jared _knows_ this. Swears to god he knows it. But even so, the thought of Jensen taking kindly to another guy makes his skin itch.

“What’s the hold up?” Rush’s voice comes out of nowhere.

“Oh, uh, nothing,” says Jared, resuming his task of nail-gunning the shingles on. Nods towards the ranch. “New guy.”

Rush hums. “Yeah, ain't easy. You get irrelevant real quick around here. Kinda like you graduate and your favourite teacher forgets about you.”

“Yeah,” says Jared, gazing up once more, eyes following Jensen, Beto, and the new guy as they head into the farm house.

_Stop being crazy._

Jared has selective hearing when it comes to the voice in his head.

His foul mood isn’t helped later that day. He promised Jensen he’d come down to the barn to help tidy up the horse stalls. What he hadn’t agreed to is Mr. Friday new guy (Brett, or whatever) playing stable boy with them. As Jared brushes Secretariat, he can’t help but notice how Jensen mentors young Brett. It’s the same way he’d taught Jared — tough-love, sarcastic, but patient. Letting him figure things out on his own. The hard way.

There’s a surge of heat in his blood as he watches the two of them. Realizes a part of him misses when he and Jensen were like that, when things were uncertain — when they tip-toed around each other, trying to figure the other one out. When they fought and did battle. God, they wasted so much time back then.

Neither could have predicted they would both be so hard to pin down.

There’s Jared — naive, reckless, emotional — who’s so quick to let people know what he wants and how he wants it (and that he wants it _now_ ). Who’d jumped into this thing wholeheartedly without so much as a second thought.

And then there’s Jensen — wise, careful, reserved — who’s so guarded, reluctant to let anyone in, but who’s the most genuine, caring, sensitive man you could ask for once he lets those walls down. Who you could trust with your life. With your _heart_.

And they came together like a perfect storm. Like that first high you chase forever but can never get close to it again. First love, first life.

To Jared’s irritation, Jensen leaves him and Brett alone when he steps outside to corral the sheep.

New guy huffs. “This place is bullshit.”

“You’re not wrong.”

“Ackles is a prick. Reminds of this cop buddy of mine. Complete asshole.”

Jaw clenches. “He’s got his reasons.”

“Bet he gets off on the power trip. Bet he’s one of those army psychos who likes killin’ for fun —”

“Don’t talk about him like that,” snaps Jared, moving on the guy, getting in his face. A threat.

“Hey, chill the fuck out,” says Brett, stepping back.

Jared retreats, gets his body back under control.

_Not worth it, not worth it._

Then he hears Brett mutter, “Faggot…”

The guy is on the ground before he even knew what hit him. Jared's throwing punches, knuckles bruising from the couple that connect with cheek bone, and getting tangled up in flailing limbs. In two seconds flat, a familiar hand grabs him by the arm and yanks him up off the ground.

_“BREAK IT UP.”_

There’s rage flowing through Jared’s veins as Jensen also pulls Brett to his feet and stands between the two of them, chest heaving, face red.

“Brett, get your dumb-ass up to the farm house and wait for me there. _Go_.”

Brett leaves the barn fuming and, to Jared’s satisfaction, with the start of a split lip. As soon as he’s gone, Jensen rounds on Jared, annoyance in his eyes.

“The fuck was that all about?”

“He called me a _faggot_ ,” says Jared, seething. “Pissed me off.”

Jensen sighs. “You can’t just go around throwin’ punches whenever someone pisses you off.”

“Why the hell not?” Jared shuffles on his feet, adrenaline flowing from the fight. “People can’t just say shit like that! Can’t let them get away with it.”

Jensen’s shoulders fall. He stares at Jared, listening. Taking it all in.

“Tell me then," Jared continues, point blank, "what the fuck do _you_ do when people call you one, huh?”

Jensen toes at the ground. He sighs, “Never been called that. Not to my face.”

“Well, aren’t you lucky then,” Jared scoffs, throwing his arms to the sides. “But, guess what, I don’t have that luxury, asshole. I don’t look or sound like you do.”

“Hey,” says Jensen, softly. “I know. 'M sorry. Never thought about it that way." He takes a few steps forward, runs a hand up Jared’s arm. "And what Brett said, it ain't right.”

It’s hard to stay pissed off when those green eyes are looking at you like you’re the most precious thing in the world.

“Whatever," grumbles Jared. "He’s just another ignorant dick. Won’t be the last person who says dumb shit like that to me.”

“Ain’t right,” Jensen repeats, quieter. He looks down. Laces their fingers together and fixates on the patterns. “Never really thought about how I kinda hide myself from the world like that. If I don’t tell people who I am, they can’t use it against me. Goddamn coward.”

It’s not a choice Jared ever had — he’s been boy-crazy since puberty — but he can understand it. Why suffer if you don’t have to? He sighs, steps forward until their bodies align. Runs a thumb along Jensen’s stubbled jawline.

“There’s no rule that says you have to tell people. It’s your fucking business.”

“Yeah, but if guys are gonna be on your dick about it...” He takes a breath, shakes his head. “Dunno. Gonna think on it.”

Jared nods. There’s a bruise smarting under his right eye, but it’s born of courage. Of being worth something.

A take-no-bullshit battle scar. A promise.

Strong arms snake around his waist. “You as tired of takin' things slow as I am?"

Jared's eyes alight. There's a fire burning his his belly.

Freckles and pink pout-lips lean in to ghost a kiss on Jared's lips. Jensen breathes, "Soon."

Neither of them know it yet, but there’s no limit to what Jared will do to keep Jensen his.


	20. Chapter 20

CHAPTER NINETEEN

_____________________

When you’re in recovery, you can never underestimate the power of a strict schedule. Because it’s not about willpower or suppressing desire. It’s about discipline. About retraining your mind — fixing the broken bits, like putty-filling holes in the walls, tearing away loose shingles and covering the cracks. Making home safe and cozy.

Jared’s brain is a fixer-upper.

And he can sense how easy it is to slip the second he deviates from routine. He’d seen it happen with Jeff already. It’s a quick slide from a too-tired, “I’m gonna skip group tonight” to “I really don’t need to go anymore” to spending your days lazing around on the sofa, watching Jerry Springer in your underwear.

The sober house boys have a lot of time on their hands.

“Jeff, you coming to group?” says Jared on Friday afternoon after he gets back from driving Rush into town for a job interview at the local mine.

Jeff shakes his head and snorts. “Nah, man. I’m good.”

Jared takes a breath. It’s none of his business, but there’s an invisible hand on his shoulder, holding him back. “You sure? You haven’t been to one for awhile and —“

“Jared, man, I’m _good_.” Jeff’s on edge, gritting his teeth.

In West Virginia, ‘ _good_ ’ does a piss-poor job of hiding the bad.

The weather is starting to get brisk in the autumn afternoons and Jared finds himself pulling tight at his zip-up hoodie to keep warm on cloudy days. He’s sure glad of the wood stove and gentle cinnamon smell of the Jacob’s Ladder farm house. He swings by the kitchen to grab a hunk of fresh bread and cheese before crowding into the living room with the rest of the new guys for group.

Jensen’s leading it. Funny, it’s supposed to be Grant’s turn today.

He finds a spot between in between Pete and Jeremiah and sits down. As more guys file in (Everett and Forrest), he divides his gaze between Jensen, who is scribbling nervous doodles on a pad, and Jared’s new nemesis, Brett, who looks as sullen and withdrawn as he had in the barn. Still got the leftovers of a fat lip, Jared’s pleased to see.

“Everybody all set?” asks Jensen, to which there are murmurs from around the circle. “Anybody know if Jeff’s coming?”

Jared clears his throat. “Oh, um, he’s in the middle of, like, replacing a rusty pipe or something.”

It shocks him how quickly the lie rolls off his tongue. And he’s not even sure why. It’s not like Jeff’s doing any against the rules — it’s up to each of them whether or not they want to continue coming to group after graduation. Still, something about Jeff’s demeanor lately has got Jared’s guard up. Raises a brotherly instinct like he’s got to protect him or something. He doesn’t meet Jensen’s eye when he says the lie, but he can feel his gaze on him — studying and scrutinizing.

“Okay, then, let’s get started. I’m Jensen and I’m an addict.”

“ _Hi, Jensen._ ”

“I, um,” he continues, changing his tone. Softer, slower. “I wasn’t supposed to be leading group today, but I asked Grant if I could take his spot.” He takes a breath. “Lately, um, I’ve been thinkin’ on some things. Been dealin’ with some new emotions. New points of view.” Chances a glance at Jared. “I’d like to start today by sharing a story about my own recovery, if you’ll have me.”

The room is dead quiet, electrified. In the months Jared’s been in group meetings, this is the first time Jensen’s ever shared something personal. Others notice it too — their attention is rapt, leaning forward, listening intently.

“Some of you know I was in Iraq. But what you prolly don’t know is that it wasn’t just the war that broke me. Wasn’t just the day-to-day horrors — people dying, friends losing their minds, the paranoia that someone was out to get you killed at any second — that drove me to self-medicate. See I… I’ve always felt, um, different.”

He takes a deep breath and clears his throat.

“Anyway, everything changed when I went overseas. Started seeing people as enemies, _threats_. Started drinking just to forget all the shit I saw and heard every day, for years. But what really fucked me up”—his breath hitches—“was lyin’ to myself. Cause, um, in the army, well, I caught these feelings. Like, these _everything_ feelings for a buddy of mine… typical guy’s guy.”

Tears burn at his eyes. He looks down. Gets soft.

“And it was confusing ‘cause I ain’t supposed to be like that, you know? Never woulda chose it for myself.” Shakes his head. “And so I drank to get through the guilt of it. Felt so low, so broken. Like God made me wrong or somethin'…”

Jared’s heart races as every conceivable emotion — from pride to sorrow, from love to anger — courses through his body. He’s never seen Jensen so raw. So authentic. He’s beautiful.

“So I shotgunned beer after beer,” he continues, hands trembling, “then bottle after bottle until I was so messed up I didn’t recognize myself anymore. Because I hated the man I was. Because I was afraid." He looks up. "But I'm not afraid anymore. And I'm not gonna hide things like that, I swear. Cause there ain't nothin' wrong with it.”

He glances around the circle and settles on Jared last. Lingers there for a moment till he rubs tears from his eyes.

“Want you guys to know…" he continues, steadier now, "That what you’re going through? It don’t always need a big reason. Some sob story, or trauma. Cause addiction don't know the difference between a war veteran and loneliness. It still roots inside you like rot. Gets its hooks in when you’re at your worst. When you’re the most vulnerable you’ve ever been in your life. And, for a few hours, maybe a day or two, it’ll make it all go away. But, fellas, that ain’t living. It’s the opposite.”

The room is silent as everyone takes in Jensen’s confession. It’s the most anyone’s ever heard him speak at once. Jared’s heart is swollen and aching for him. Got tears drying on his cheeks.

“That’s all I gotta say. Thank y'all for listening.” He takes a final deep breath of cleansing relief. Of courage and truth. He clears his throat, pinches his nose to stop it running. “So, what about it? What's everyone strugglin’ with today?”

It’s a moment or two before anyone works up the nerve to speak. Jared raises his hand.

“Hi. Jared, addict.”

“ _Hi, Jared_.”

“I, um, I’ve been struggling a bit the last few days. I mean, I’ve got a lot of good stuff going on right now, but there’s always those down times when your brain feels heavy and your thoughts kinda suck the life out of you.” He pauses. Not entirely sure where he’s going with this.

Jensen prompts him. “Do you find these thoughts bother you at certain times of the day?”

“Usually right before bed,” he admits. “When it’s all dark and quiet. I used to pop pills to get me to sleep, so I guess I’m trying to learn how to do it properly. I keep thinking about… my Dad. How he didn’t really care about me coming home. How he didn’t visit me here. How he never calls…” Tears pool at the corners of Jared’s eyes. “It fucking sucks, you know?”

Jensen nods. “Family can be supportive. They can also be your biggest letdown. Hurts like hell. Remember, we can choose our own family.”

There’s a kindness, an offer, there that makes Jared’s heart swell three sizes.

The room melts away, leaving the two of them and a ring of empty chairs.

~~~

After the meeting, the new guys head out for a guided nature walk with Grant. Jared lingers, helping Jensen put the living room back in order and tidy up the coffee machine and used mugs. They stand at the dining room sink, Jensen washing, Jared drying, while the sounds and smells of Gus prepping dinner waft from the kitchen.

_Wash mug, dry mug_. _Wash spoon, dry spoon._

It’s meditative. A ritual. Like everything they do together.

“It was really beautiful, what you said today,” says Jared, running a dishrag over a creamer pitcher. “Took a lot of courage.”

“Thanks,” Jensen hums, lets his elbow brush up against Jared’s arm. “Means a lot, comin' from you. Hell, you were the one who gave me the idea.”

“What do you mean?”

“The other day, in the barn with Brett… I didn’t feel right that happened to you. Not while I’ve been gettin’ off scot-free.”

It’s pretty much the most unconventional romantic gesture Jared’s ever received.

He grins, “So did you kick Brett's ass for me then?”

Jensen chuckles. “Not quite. I did chew him out though. Then, after thinkin' it over for a couple days, I sat him down a second time and told him what I just told everyone. And that if I ever heard a word like that come out his mouth again, he’d have a lot more than a busted lip to look forward to.”

“Hey, I’m proud of that lip, thank you very much.” Jared grits his teeth and sighs. “I hate him.”

Jensen scrubs the last coffee mug. “He ain’t all bad.”

It’s hard to describe the miserable tug at his belly to hear Jensen talk like that. Hates that he’s using that soft voice Jared thought was reserved only for him. His frustration comes out in a whispered whine,

“I get cranky when I miss you so much. When you’re right here but I can’t touch you like I want.”

Jensen faces Jared and holds his drip-wet hands out, which Jared carefully dries with the dishtowel, massaging them, finger by finger.

Jensen speaks low, lashes fluttering. “Thought we had a nice dinner date planned for tonight...”

“We do,” says Jared, swooning at how pretty Jensen’s freckles are in the waning daylight. “But I’m a needy cocksucker. Get used to it.”

Jensen’s eyes flick down to his lips and back up again. And his tone shifts, flirtatious and serious, all at once.

“And what do you need tonight?” purrs Jensen, low and feral. “Cause, boy, I’m startin' to think that we only live once and I don’t wanna waste another minute not touchin' you in all the places you need to be.”

Jared leans in, tempting and teasing. “You just figuring that out now, cowboy?”

Tonight they're both gonna learn what real love is.


	21. Chapter 21

CHAPTER TWENTY

_____________________

It's an hour after dishwashing and deciding _tonight's the night_ and Jared's back at the sober house, cherishing a hot shower. He scrubs and rubs and trims and preens, gets himself all clean and ready. And as he soaks under the hot stream, a feeling strikes him — he’s never felt this _nervous_ before a date. Never felt butterflies flitter-flap their wings in his belly like this.

That’s because Jensen isn’t just another hook up. He isn’t some faceless guy he'd met at a bar, who’d given him the eyes at a urinal or slipped him some Molly and led him out to the back alley so Jared could stick his dick inside some closeted defence attorney. This is _Jensen_. The most important person in his life. And the thought of being underneath him, of feeling the heavy weight of warm muscle, of getting pinned down and loved-up, naked and willing… Well, Jared _yearns_ for being under his thumb. Longs for his touch, the itch and scratch of beard scruff, the taste of watermelon tongue.

Jared’s head spins as he slips into his cleanest pair of jeans and a button-down tee that hugs at all his angles and highlights milk-white skin with a Southern tan. It’s after dark and he crosses paths with Jeff on his way out.

“Shit, son, where you headed? Town?” Jeff raises an eyebrow, eyeing Jared’s shirt and shower-fresh skin. Dressed to impress.

“Maybe...” shrugs Jared, who tries and fails to hide a half-grin.

“Okay, man," Jeff laughs, claps him on the shoulder. "Get that pussy — or _ass_ or whatever. Fuckin' Christ.”

Jared chuckles, shakes his head, and gives Jeff a playful shove as he heads out the door. Ignores the faint smell of something familiar — mint mixed with _beer._

The walk down to Jensen’s cabin goes on forever. The butterflies in his stomach multiply like clones and their flittery-flapping only seems to intensify as he gets closer, as if they sense something big’s about to happen. When he, at last, arrives at the cabin, he knocks once, twice, on the door before it opens.

A love-struck bullet embeds square in Jared's chest.

Because Jensen is standing there in nice jeans and a tight(ish) black tee for once. No ball cap in sight. Instead, a slight swoosh of fingers through his hair to make it stand up a bit. Pre-bed-head. He smiles and slings a kitchen towelette over his shoulder.

“Hey, darlin’. Come on in.”

Jared isn’t sure if he responds with “ _H_ _i_ ” or “ _O_ _kay_ ” or “ _S_ _cjhlufmh_ ” because he’s pretty sure his mouth’s stopped working at the mere sight of him. Because _god fucking damn_ he cleans up nice. No work boots, no ripped jeans, no plaid. Just six-feet-one-inch of solid West Virginia _man_ that would put big city models to shame.

His mouth’s gone dry. Can’t speak or even process things other than _G_ _oddamn I need that body on me or I'll die_. Instead, he follows Jensen inside, flips off his boots, and walks on pins and needles around the room as Jensen tends to two juicy steaks sizzling on the stove top. The dining room table's all lined with dishes, cutlery, glasses, and linens, with a bottle of fizzy water (the fancy stuff) in the middle. His ears attune to the slow, bluesy country music playing softly from a speaker. A glowing fire in the wood stove casts the cabin in orange haze.

“Awfully quiet tonight,” says Jensen after a minute. Meets Jared's eye as he sears the steak.

“I, uh…” he begins (and, yeah, he’s pretty sure his brain’s short-circuited), “I mean, if you want the truth, you kinda took my breath away.”

Jensen clicks off the burner, letting the steaks rest where they are and turns around, grinning and eyeing Jared like an appetizer.

“C’mere,” he nods, to which Jared scurries over like a freakin’ puppy dog to his master.

_I'm so whipped already. Fuckin' asshole... his fault.  
_

Jensen slides his arms around Jared’s waist, eyes blazing and scanning slowly along his body, _down, up_. And Jared’s blood sings. Hasn’t had a man look at him like that in months. Maybe ever.

“Damn, kid. You look real good.” He runs his thumb along Jared’s bottom lip, spreads the bit of spit-slick around until it glistens and then finally pushes in, rubbing at Jared’s tongue.

Jared moans — _whimpers_ — at that. The rumble of Jensen’s voice touching something deep inside him. And he watches Jensen’s face shift from desire to lust as Jared tongues along the grooves of Jensen’s thumb, closing his lips and suckling at it like it's a goddamn cock.

_So. Fucking. Whipped._

“Gonna get inside that mouth,” Jensen shudders. Leans in and plants the most innocent of kisses on Jared’s lips. A tease. Then he pulls back, removes his thumb, and runs a hand through Jared's hair. Blinks those beautiful green eyes, "Dinner first. You hungry?"

_More than you know._

While the room spins, Jared nods, trying his best to recover. If this is all a prelude to what’s next, Jared’s not sure he can survive it — that filthy fucking mouth will surely kill him dead before he can even experience it in full.

He takes a seat at the dining room table and Jensen plates the most perfectly cooked steaks he’s ever tasted in his life, along with some roasted sweet potatoes and asparagus.

“Wow,” says Jared through a juicy mouthful. “Incredible.”

“Glad you like it.” Jensen smiles after slicing through his own steak, letting a beautiful trickle of dark red juice onto the plate. “Been a long time since I cooked like this. Special occasion and all.”

“So, I’m special, huh?” Jared grins through a bite of perfectly seasoned potato. “Jeez, if you had told me four months ago you’d be cooking me a steak dinner someday, I would’ve warned Doc you were off the wagon.”

Jensen laughs. “You weren’t the easiest resident I’ve ever had, that’s for damn sure.” He blinks, shyly meeting Jared’s eye. “But no doubt the cutest…”

“ _Cutest_ ,” Jared groans and rolls his eyes like a drama queen. “No guy likes being called _cute_ …”

“No?” Jensen smiles, the apples of his cheeks going pink. “Hell, I might just die if you called me _cute_.”

They sit and eat, enjoying each other’s company, the glow of the fire and old fashioned country music lulling them deeper and deeper into a romantic mood. With every bite — every stray half-smile, eyelash flutter, and nervous laugh — the tension builds, both getting drawn into an undercurrent of _when's the right time, what's the right move,_ and _who's gonna make it_.

After the last bites of steak and potatoes and the cutlery has long since clattered on empty plates, they both help clear the table, dumping dirty dishes in the sink that are sure as hell gonna wait 'til morning _god damn it_. They face each other at the kitchen counter, eager bodies alight with anticipation. Jensen eyes Jared carefully. Gets shy and butterflyish.

“Can I ask you something?”

Jared purses his lips. Half-rolls his eyes. “Duh.”

The tips of Jensen's ears turn pink. He nods toward the bed. “Have you… have you done this much?”

_If it was our wedding night, I wouldn't be wearing white, if that's what you're asking..._

He's no blushing bride.

“Yeah, I have,” he answers, quietly. Honestly. “Is that okay?”

"Course," Jensen shrugs, tracing his knuckles along the vein on Jared's forearm. “Long as you’re okay that I haven’t. Much, at least.”

They share a look that tells them everything they need to know. That this, tonight, is both new and familiar to both of them. That the wildly different paths they took to arrive at this moment make it even more special somehow. Like catching lightning in a bottle.

“And, well, I gotta ask...” Jensen continues, all breathy as he fingers gently at Jared’s belt loops, eyes affixed on the sliver of skin he'd unveiled. “How do you like to… What do you prefer… I mean, are you a —“ He can’t quite find the words he needs until he just settles on the god's honest truth. “I mean, _Jesus_ , Jared, I’m dyin' to feel what it’s like to be inside you. Get you all spread out under me...”

Jared shudders. The throb at his poor cock is almost unbearable, swollen and trapped against tight jeans. (And he's so fucking glad he rubbed his way through a practice run in the shower earlier.) He feels a longing deep in his bones that needs satiating.

“I - I’ve never done that before,” he whispers, an admission. In D.C., it was always the other way around. To keep control. Jared never let any of those greedy men get inside him. He’d made sure of that. “But I want to. With you.”

Jensen breathes, shaky and shallow, slinks his arms around Jared’s waist and pulls him close, half-gentle, half-rough. “There's, um... there's dessert." Gets all heady and desperate, rubs his lips at Jared's ear, jaw, cheek. "Chocolate... chocolate cake in the fridge…”

“Later,” hums Jared, under a dizzy spell. There's the hint of a _sigh_ in his voice as he melts into the gap between them, noses brushing now, breathing each other in. “ _L_ _ater…_ ”

They kiss and succumb to each other like they've always been inevitable. Like their hearts are magnetically drawn, polar opposites but tethered together through time and space, stuck tight and falling fast. Like stars-crossed. They move through each other, mouths humming, tongues pressing and teasing, murmurs caught in voice-boxes.

Jensen’s hands are everywhere, pawing at Jared like he’s got no choice but to get him closer, nearer, _now_. Tugging each other into a beautiful frenzy, till their chests heave and their lungs scream for breath. This thing between them’s been simmering for so long and now it's finally gonna boil over.

Somehow they manage to make it over to the bed — Jensen sits on the end of it as Jared slides to the floor, taking up his new role in beautiful service. And Jensen praises him for it. Tangles thick fingers in gorgeous boy-curls, petting him nice. He spreads his knees.

“Good boy."

The sound of it makes Jared weak. He paws at Jensen’s belt, belly flipping at the heavy _clink_ sound it makes when it opens — at the soft _whirr, whirr_ noise of leather sliding through denim-loops before it's tossed to the floor with a heavy _whump_. His fingers tremble as they fumble along the buttons of Jensen’s jeans. Manages to tug them off with Jensen's help, boxer-briefs following suit as Jensen slides them off and grips his own cock.

It’s hard, thick, and glistening pretty pink at the tip.

And Jared _salivates_.

“Don’t be gentle with me,” Jared breathes, running his lips along Jensen’s cock. Tonguing clumsily over ridges and grooves. “I can take it.”

“Kay,” Jensen hums, leaning forward, desperate for more. For _all_. Two thick hands grip Jared’s head and pull him tight, shoving himself inside in one smooth thrust. Holding himself there and making low-noises like he’s _dying_ at the feel of Jared’s throat fluttering around his length.

Jared, too, could perish like this. All wrapped up in Jensen’s love, under his thumb and choking quietly on his cock. He slides off when Jensen lets him, tonguing around soft edges, and moans as he gets yanked forward again, sliding deep till his nose hits hilt. _Loves it._

_Loves him._

It’s a testing a boundaries — of how much Jared can take, of how they’re going to be with each other. Of roughhousing and power play. Jared moans, mouth reverberating on Jensen’s cock as he slides off and on again, finding a rhythm he likes. Jensen relents this time, releases his grip and leans back on the bed a little. Tilts his head back towards Heaven and lets out a throaty moan that sounds like ascendancy.

“Keep going, Padalecki. Jus' like that.”

Jared does what he’s told. Licks, spit-slicks, and sucks at Jensen’s fuckstick till he’s murmuring helpless noises, chest rising and falling with ragged breaths.

Then, like whiplash, Jensen takes control again. Leans forward and presses two hands to the back of Jared’s head, firmer this time, and coaxes him deeper, longer. _I_ _mpossibly_ deep. Fucks Jared’s juicy mouth like it was meant for this. Like he was meant to be taken apart, to lose control and submit to Jensen’s command.

It makes Jared’s fucking _toes_ curl.

At last, Jensen loosens his hold again and lets Jared slide off him completely, dick bobbing in the space between them. A thick string of saliva drooling from it.

“Gonna quit now, Ackles?” grins Jared as he rises from his knees, unbuttons his own shirt and peels it off. He straddles Jensen’s lap and wraps a fist around Jensen's spit-wet dick. “I don’t want you blowing your load before you really fuck me.”

Jensen buries his head in Jared’s chest, breathing heavy at the way his cock’s getting stroked. His arms tighten around Jared’s torso like vice grips.

“Kid, I’m pushin' forty. Ain’t blowing my load any time soon.”

The thought of it makes Jared’s dick throb.

With his free hand he lifts Jensen’s chin and kisses him deadly, undoing months of temperance. Of not-so-patiently waiting. For this one night of letting all their walls come crumbling down so they can start to rebuild together.

At sober house, Jared’s gotten real good at busting down walls.

Without delay, they make their way up the bed and work themselves into position — pulling and stripping off the rest of their clothes, one by one, tossing things to the floor until they’re both naked on the bed. Jensen maneuvers himself so he's pressed heavy on top of Jared, kissing and caressing, grinding desperate against each other. Warm bodies, twisted and slotted together like missing puzzle pieces.

Jensen reaches over, face glowing orange in the firelight, and unearths a small bottle of oil from his bedside drawer. He coats his fingers slick and moves them down between Jared’s legs.

He spreads for him willingly, thighs parting, letting in. Tries his best to relax as Jensen’s slippery fingertips ghost around Jared's softer parts, working in circles until they’re rubbing _oh so good_ around all the nerve endings Jared's never even bothered to learn about. Until… until…

 _Holy shitttt_.

Jared gasps, letting a breathy sigh fall from his lips as Jensen's fingertips ghost over his virgin hole.

It’s music to Jensen’s ears. He chuckles, satisfied. “You like that?”

_Fuckyoufuckyoufuckyou._

“Mm, more...”

Jensen presses a little harder this time, sliding one, then _two_ , warm fingertips around his entrance like he’s trying to coax it open. The pressure reverberates to places deep inside him. Places no one has ever touched.

Jared moans, his eyes rolling back. “ _Hhnn_ …”

"Beg for it."

A louder moan now. " _Please_."

“Good. Love the sounds you make,” breathes Jensen, voice all low and scratchy. Like he's possessed or something. “Wanna get inside you, Jared.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Jared hisses. Then, adds. “ _Please, yes._ ”

The last thing he glimpses before Jensen kisses him is a smile that could kill the world. Devilish and prideful. Before he finds himself utterly swallowed up by that perfect mouth, his toes curling at the way Jensen's thick fingers rub at Jared’s hole like it's a goddamn pussy. And he swears to god, if he doesn’t feel those digits push inside soon he’s gonna _do something about it_ and _ohhhhh —  
_

He keens as a thick finger slides inside, pushing past the spongy knot of nerve endings and into slippery bliss. Pumps _in and out_ and _in and out_ , carving a space inside him as Jensen tongue-fucks his mouth into submission. Soon, Jensen adds another finger, stretching him gently while they kiss and clutch at each other like they’re sewn together.

There's a shift in the air. Like the energy's changing, _softening_ , to something more intentional. More intimate.

From fucking to love-making.

“Christ, Jared... Been dyin’ to see you like this for so long.” He watches through heavy lashes the pink flush spread across Jared's chest as his fingers scissor him open. “Never dreamed I’d ever get to. That you’d let me.”

Jared gets all blushy and weak. Whispers, “Let you do anything to me...”

The god’s honest truth.

Jensen adds a third finger and Jared whimpers at the stretch, rolling his hips down to meet those perfect fingers, craving more and nervous about what's to come — the agony and ecstasy of full penetration. The completeness of it.

Jared sure feels like a blushing bride now.

His heart skips a beat when Jensen removes his fingers and shifts himself into position, lining himself up. Shivers when Jensen runs his hands down the backs of his thighs and bends his knees, lifting his legs up. Time stands still as they stare into each other’s eyes. Jensen’s are hazy and half-lidded, a picture-perfect visage. A first love and a trustworthy one.

“You ready for this?” he asks, soft.

Jared’s eyes get wet. Because Jensen knows all about his past, about his history with men, how he used to find ‘em and fuck ‘em and gets on his knees once and awhile to give the odd blowjob. Knows about the drugs and the bullshit and the insecurities. But it's _nothing_ like Jensen knows him now, in this moment. Nothing like the split-second before surrendering. Of giving yourself over completely to someone. The vulnerability in it.

He nods, feebly, lips trembling against Jensen’s cheek.

And Jensen holds him there, cradles his head and breathes into him. Reassuring.

“We don’t have to,” he hums, sweet, polite. A perfect Southern gentleman giving Jared the out, the leeway. “We can wait or just kiss or —“

“Not on your life. I want this. Want you."

There’s no grey area. Jared wants it more than anything. There’s an achy spot inside him that craves to be filled — one that has nothing to do with drugs or loneliness or hurt. What he really wants, really _needs_ , is to feel another person, _Jensen_ , pull him apart, piece by piece, until he’s tender, stripped-down, and splayed out like organic matter. And later, when the tissue forms and the edges stitch together, he'll get whole again. A flesh wound healed.

An adoring Jensen leans down and kisses him soft, then brushes his lips against Jared's cheek. Whispers, “Is it okay if I’m gentle with you now?”

Jared swallows, letting Jensen’s body sink down, heavy, onto his own. He nods.

They lock eyes and Jensen grips to adjust himself, pressing the head of his cock gently against Jared’s entrance. It’s beautiful, the calm before the storm, the static before the shock, the moment before everything _becomes_ something.

Jared takes a deep breath and nods, searches Jensen’s eyes for comfort. He gets it. Jensen holds him tight and presses in… slowly, tenderly, past the tight ring of muscle until he's halfway inside.

“Still okay?”

Jared exhales, shaky and shuddery. He’s stretched, more open than he’s ever been before, and there’s a profound _ache_ to it that touches deep inside. But he can take it. He wants it. And it’s not enough. Not yet.

“Please, Jensen. Wanna feel all of you.”

It’s Jensen’s turn to tremble now. And, in a movement Jared can only describe at becoming _complete_ , Jensen pushes the rest of the way in, slipping past tight, impossibly tight, muscle and bottoming out inside him.

They both breath heavy and clutch each other, overwhelmed by it. Their two souls together. Twisted and entwined like a DNA helix. Secured and enraptured.

Jared’s about to weak-whisper a, “Fuck me _…_ ” when Jensen reads his mind. He slides out, smooth and deliberate, hips rolling, and then back in again, his cock carving space in warm velvet.

“Ohhh,” moans Jared. Because it's never been like this. Not even close. Never trusted anyone with his body, his heart. Never loved anyone like this.

And it strikes him — _this_ is sex. This is what people talk about. All the pill-popping and drunk-fucking he’d done in D.C. was nothing compared to this.

This meant something. Meant something spelled L-O-V-E.

And he’s compelled to say it out loud. Like an invocation.

“Hey…” he utters, lip trembling as Jensen fucks into him, gentle yet powerful, hitting that perfect nub of nerves so deep inside Jared he swears no one else will ever find it.

Jensen, eyes hazy with pleasure, just gazes down at him, a lazy smile on his lips. Because he knows what they both want to say. Because it’s been hanging in the West Virginia air for weeks.

“Love you,” whispers Jared, quivering under Jensen’s weight. Letting him fuck him like he's the most precious thing in the world.

And Jensen stutters. Halts his perfect rhythm for just a second, caught up in those perfect words. In the confession of it. And he follows suit. Half-smiles and hushes, “I love you.”

They melt into an earth-shattering kiss, devouring each other as Jensen starts up again, his thrusts more insistent and purposeful this time. Just… _deeper and deeper_. Hitting places Jared didn't know existed.

Things get intense now, like the stakes have just been raised. Jensen moans, low and throaty, as he shifts his weight and grabs hold of the backs of Jared's knees, propping his legs up over his broad shoulders. Readjusts himself — thrusting _deeper, harder, heavier_.

“Jensen _…_ ” Jared groans as Jensen fucks down into him, folds him in half and pulls him apart like he knows Jared belongs to _him_ and him alone.

And something builds inside Jared. Something that makes his toes curl and his dick swell. Each rut of Jensen’s cockhead against that achy spot inside him makes synapses in his brain fire until his mouth hangs open and precious sex noises spill from it.

“ _Jen… Jen… Jennnn_ …”

Jensen groans, presses his mouth to Jared’s and breathes into him, “Gonna come soon, darlin'… Gonna come inside you.”

 _Darlin'_. That word. That beautiful word that does everything to push Jared over the edge. He moans deep into Jensen’s mouth as their warm bellies press against his cock, squeezing it so perfect that he comes all over, leaking white seed everywhere.

The sight of it, the _smell_ of it, sends Jensen reeling and the next thing Jared hears is a magnificent throaty moan and feels the angelic _pulse-pulse-pulse_ of ejaculation inside him, filling him with heat. With gorgeous emission.

Salt-stained, saccharine love coating up his insides.

The ascension.

They ride through their orgasms until every last ounce of love is spilled. Then they collapse onto each other, Jensen blanketing Jared in warmth and protection. Sweat-slick bodies radiating wet heat.

They lie there for several minutes, just breathing together until their mouths meet for a devastating, post-sex kiss. Jared’s the first to speak.

“That was…”

_A loss for words._

“Yeah, it was,” Jensen breathes. A smile crooks at his lips. Gets quiet for a minute. “Tell me, has it always been like that for you?”

“Jensen,” Jared begins, laying his head on Jensen's chest, "no one’s ever been like us.”


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Just a friendly reminder and fair warning. **From here on out, this story is gonna slowly descend into darker places.**

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

_____________________

They make love twice more before the sun comes up. Fall asleep, limbs tangled, heads on chests and burrowed in necks. Rise for 2am chocolate cake. Wake up sore and satiated, whispering little love-mumbles like “ _in too deep and can’t go backs”_ and “ _never been like thats_.” Munch on scrambled eggs, toast, and slurp hot coffee. Say their morning goodbyes like they’re leaving for war and go their separate ways — Jensen heads straight out to pasture while Jared strides back up to the sober house, a new spring in his step and a beautiful throb inside.

He can still feel Jensen, the empty space he’d carved out.

Never wants that ache to go away.

It’s tough to focus on top-coat painting the living room when you’ve got Ackles on the brain. How he'd smelled, how he'd looked, how he'd felt spread out on top of Jared, the immense weight of him bearing down and bucking farm-boy hips. There are drops of _Eggshell White_ on his socks.

“You like watchin’ paint dry?” says Jeff from the couch, where he’s playing the newest _Call of Duty_.

“What?" says Jared, zoning back in. "Oh, ha, right.”

It takes a few more tries to actually refocus on the task at hand. Painting is just so goddamn boring compared to getting fucked in the ass by Jensen Ackles.

_Seriously._

As Jared does his brushstrokes his mind starts to wander… gets curious about the few other times Jensen may have done that. What type of other guys have caught his eye, and if he used to get fucked up on booze and chase anything with a dick-sucking mouth like Jared had. His technique had surely been _practiced_ , no doubt. But part of Jared, the sentimental part, hopes all of that was just for him. That, true to his word, there hadn’t been anyone like them.

That they were special.

Despite the distractions (driving Rush to work, Jeff’s video-gaming, day-dreaming of that perfect _filled up_ feeling), he manages to finish the paint job by suppertime. Instead of mashing up an old box of _Kraft Mac & Cheese_, Jared decides to head down to Jacob’s Ladder to eat, hoping to catch a glimpse of the guy he’s gone all gaga for.

Sure enough, Jensen is there. _Maybe hoping the same.  
_

Jared spots him in the corner of the dining room, brewing up some mint tea while the other boys help themselves to heaping plates of jambalaya. Immediately, Jared’s cheeks pinken when he sees him, all tall and beautiful, reading the side of some tea box like it’s a Russian novel. He exchanges pleasantries with the guys around the table and, hearing Jared’s name, Jensen looks up.

Their eyes meet and they can’t help but smile. Jared just lets his mouth follow muscle memory, beaming like sunshine, where Jensen takes the opposite approach, tries to cover his up by itching at his beard. With the guys all settling down to eat and arguing over which is the best _Fast and Furious_ movie, Jared sidles over to the corner.

“Hi,” he says, hands in pockets.

Jensen smiles. Blinks those pretty green eyes. “Hi, back.”

Even a few feet apart, Jared can sense the chemistry between them. He hums quietly, “So, um, last night…”

Jensen raises his eyebrows. A shy smile appears on his face. “Yeah, it was… it was —“

“— incredible.”

They both pause and then chuckle shyly, looking down at the ground and up again. Jared scrunches his nose and leans in,

“I’m still a little sore.”

Jensen’s eyes flare. He nearly drops the tea box. “Jesus, kid, don’t tell me that,” cheeks colouring a deep pink. “Might have to pin your ass down on that table in front of everybody.”

“I’d let you,” Jared flirts, watching in triumph as Jensen takes a shaky breath in.

“Gonna kill me, Padalecki.”

Jensen brushes past him with a crooked smile and a knowing look before they start loading up their own dinner plates. They don’t sit together, there aren’t two free seats, but Jared can’t help but glance across the table every now and then, watching Jensen. Whenever their eyes meet, a _zing_ of arousal strikes hard, straight to Jared’s groin. Like a new neural pathway, forged out of love and lust.

Brain's getting all rewired.

~~~

After supper, Jared stays behind to try to catch more time with Jensen before nightfall. Unfortunately, Brett (that _asshole_ ) also lingers, picking at his pumpkin pie like a dick until it’s just the three of them left.

“How you doin’ Brett?” says Jensen, clapping him on the shoulder.

Brett shrugs, mopes and moans until he gets attention from his sober coach. And something about the way Jensen cow-tows to him, appeases him… makes Jared's blood boil. _Yes_ , Jared knows it’s Jensen’s job to make the new guys get settled, blah blah blah… But he can’t seem to recall Jensen ever taking the time of day to help _him_ figure shit out during his first couple weeks.

A knot of jealousy festers in Jared’s belly.

“Jared’s a good guy to speak to, if you ever wanna talk to someone closer to your age,” says Jensen to Brett. Grins, “Just better make sure you can dodge a right hook first.”

Anger rips through Jared’s body. Because Jensen should fucking know, the _last_ thing Jared wants is to get all friendly with the new kid.

_Closer to your age… What the fuck is that? What am I immature or something?_

Brett snorts. “Whatever.”

 _Yeah, same._ Jared grits his jaw. He’s not interested in making new friends.

A few minutes later, as Jared and Jensen are finishing up the dishes, he's irritated beyond all hell to see Brett still moping around, wiping down the table with Lysol. And Jensen can sense something's up by the way Jared's shoving porcelain at him like hand grenades.

Jensen leans in. Mumbles, “Brett’s havin' a tough go of it tonight. I’m gonna stay here for a bit so he has someone to talk to.”

Jared’s heart sinks. “Yeah, whatever.”

“Don’t get all bitchy on me,” says Jensen with a crooked smile. “You know I’d rather be with you.”

“Well, _duh_.”

They exchange sweet smiles, lean into each other as much as they can in a public place like this. The tension is palpable and, if Jared had his way, he would drop to his knees right here right now and make Jensen choose him.

It would have to wait.

“See you tomorrow?”

“‘Course,” Jensen smiles. “Why don’t you come down to the barn late afternoon? I could use an extra hand.”

Jared cocks an eyebrow, grins. “I bet you could.”

"Smart-ass."

Jared falls asleep that night with a hand on his dick and jealous love in his heart.


	23. Chapter 23

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

_____________________

There’s not much to do in West Virginia.

When Jared’s not working on the house, his day consists of driving Jeff and Rush to town, back and forth to work or to stock up on _Cheetos_ and beef jerky. Sometimes, when Jeff is called in for a quick dishwashing shift at the local diner, Jared stays around town. He takes walks, checks out the corner store and spends his hard-earned sober house coin on gummy worms and _Guitar World_ magazines. There’s a broken down Go-Kart place on the edge of town. Rush says he’ll bet a day’s pay against him. Jared knows better than to take that bet.

Other than the local high school dropouts, milling about the streets, it’s a dead town during the day. Jared wonders if the place picks up after dark. There’s a dive bar on the corner called the Tipsy Bear, and a pool hall right next to it. There used to be a drive-in movie at the edge of town, but it’s been shut down for years, so bored teenagers use the screen to smash bottles. There are boarded up shop windows and convenience stores with faded fireworks ads in the windows (“Best bang for your buck!”). There’s a gas station and a run-down Waffle House and a 7-Eleven with the town's only ATM.

He spends time wandering the streets, getting lost and catching a glimpse of what “normal life” looks like outside the ranch. Wonders if he could ever get comfortable in a place like this — small town Southern man, where everyone knows your business and the coffee shop owner's never heard of espresso.

Jared figures he could get used to anything that involves Jensen.

Ever since their night together, he’s been catching himself dreaming about the future — _their_ future: holing up somewhere in an old farm house with a wood stove and a backyard with a chicken coop, doing odd jobs like carpentry or chopping wood to make ends meet, fucking like animals every night on the bearskin rug. Home-things he’d never even dreamed of before. Not until his heart got all clenched up in a tight fist and yanked damn near out of his chest.

Now, he can’t imagine life without him.

It’s 3pm by the time Jared picks Jeff up in the ol’ Ford truck, the paper bag Jeff tucks at his feet clinking bottles all the way back to the house. Jared doesn't ask about it. Instead, he makes a beeline to the barn to help Jensen out. When he arrives, he’s annoyed to find Brett sweeping straw from Sadie’s stall.

“Why’s _he_ here?” whines Jared, plummeting from excitement to pouting in a matter of seconds.

“Well, _hello_ to you too,” says Jensen, fighting fire with fire.

He leans on Jensen’s workstation, sulking. He sighs. “Sorry, _hi_.”

Feels the jab of an elbow at his ribs.

“You look good today,” says Jensen, with a flirty click of his tongue. “Was gonna say _cute_ , but I didn’t want you bitin’ my head off.”

He rolls his eyes.

Jensen raises an eyebrow. “You gonna be cranky all afternoon?”

It’s hard not to grin, sheepish, when he eyes him that way. “Maybe…”

“Better not be,” says Jensen, testing him. “Better be good.”

“Don't know what you're talking about. I'm always good.” He winks and grabs a pair of work gloves.

They work in silence for over an hour, stacking hay. This time it’s Jared who’s catching the bales as Jensen bucks them up to the top of the stack. Every now and then, Jared glances across the barn at Brett, watching him struggle to stomp down the hay into the square crate or tie it up with twine... And it strikes Jared how far he’s come in the past few months. How it used to be _him_ struggling like that, ego weighing heavy on his shoulders, thinking he could do no wrong and acting out whenever he was challenged.

Jared would almost pity Brett if he didn’t get under his skin so much.

“Something on your mind?” asks Jensen from the bottom of the hay stack. He’s noticed Jared’s focus is elsewhere.

He nods at the new guy. “Just thinking about how that used to be me…”

Jensen laughs. “No, you were more of a spoiled brat. Brett’s got a good work ethic in him.”

Jealousy swells in him like poison. Spits, “ _Fuck you_. I work my ass off.”

“ _Jesus_ , Jared,” says Jensen, taken aback. “I’m just kiddin’ around. _‘Course_ you work hard. Why do you think I drag your ass down here to help me all the time?”

Instead of catching the bale Jensen tosses, Jared shoves at it in mid-air, pushing it back to the ground. It narrowly misses landing smack dab on top of Jensen.

“So that’s all I am to you? Some loyal stable-boy to help you get shit done?”

Jensen balks, shakes his head. “Jared, what the hell are you —“

“ _Hey, Ackles_ ,” shouts Brett from across the barn. “Could use a hand with this…”

Time halts as Jensen and Jared stare each other down. It’s a standoff — Jared, angry at Brett’s casual use of “ _Ackles_ ,” and Jensen, utterly confused as to why Jared’s being such a sassy little bitch today.

“Yep, one sec.” Jensen sighs and dusts his jeans off. Flashes Jared a ' _this ain't over'_ look.

Jared huffs as Jensen leaves to help Brett, who’s got an overly stuffed hay bale stuck in the crate. He plunks himself down on top of the hay stack, legs dangling like a child.

He knows this is stupid. That he’s overreacting and jealous. But he just can’t help himself. He’s getting possessive lately. The burn of it lingers in his chest like acid reflux. He wants to be anything and everything to the man who’d gotten him through detox. Who’d carved space in his life for him. Showed him the ropes.

And now, Jensen’s got a new recovery boy under his wing and, _goddamn it_ if that didn’t make Jared squirm. After all, _they_ had started that way. And Brett is good looking enough… Young, strong. Who’s to say Jensen won’t find him more interesting?

Jared watches, knees bouncing, blood simmering under his skin, as the two of them work on the stuck hay bale. Watches them joke around when it doesn’t budge at first. How they work in tandem to yank it out of the crate. How Jensen claps him on the shoulder and smiles after they’ve pulled it free.

It’s maddening. Every touch, every glance, every interaction puts Jared’s teeth on edge. Because _he’s_ supposed to be Jensen’s favourite.

Jared thinks this whole _love_ thing might be making him crazy.

When Jensen returns to the hay stack, Jared jumps down from the top and lands right in front of him.

“Why don’t you two just get a room already?”

Jensen’s eyes flare — throws him a look that gives Jared goosebumps. Steps closer, gets in Jared’s space. “Fuck’s your problem, Padalecki?”

Jared shuffles his feet. Mutters, “ _Nothing_ ,” like a petulant kid.

“No, spit it out,” says Jensen, hands on hips, getting impatient with these shenanigans. “You’ve obviously got something to say.”

“I said it’s _nothing_. Not like you want to hear it anyway…”

“I asked, didn’t I?” Jensen frowns, feathers ruffled. Grabs Jared’s collar and tugs. “Come with me.”

He leads Jared outside, around the edge of the barn, out of sight to all but the grazing sheep. Gives his chest a gentle push up against the building. “The hell’s wrong with you? You’re acting like an idiot.”

“I know…” Jared whines, feeling like a fool. “I’m sorry. I don’t kn —“

“ _Talk_ , Jared.”

He toes at the dirt. “It’s embarrassing…”

Jensen sighs. “Boy, I’ve seen you puke and shit yourself at the same time.” Can’t help but half-grin at that detox-memory. “Now spill.”

Jared bites his lip. Confesses in a rush, “I hate sharing you. It’s stupid, I know. Feel like an fucking five-year-old for even bringing it up and —“

He’s silenced mid-sentence by the crush of Jensen’s body, pushing him back against the wall. Hands bracketing his shoulders. “What, you _jealous_ or something?”

Jared squirms, his face flushing and body swelling at the display of dominance.

“So what if I am? I don’t like seeing you with other guys. Makes me all stupid and shit.”

“Get over it,” he growls, green eyes blazing. “Getting close to people is part of my job.”

Jared huffs. He understands. It’s just… “I don’t like you touching him.”

Suddenly, Jensen shifts. Moves his hand down and grips Jared’s cock in his jeans. Breathes heavy at his jaw.

“You think I touch anyone else like this?” He squeezes his hand, making Jared dizzy and eager. Massages his dick like he wants it.

Jared stutters at the lack of mercy from Jensen’s hand. “I don’t kn—”

He squeezes tighter. “You think I touch anybody else like this, Jared? Huh?”

Jared moans, casting hot breath over Jensen’s lips. He tries to lean down to kiss them, but Jensen pulls away.

“Didn’t think so.” Jensen releases his hold. Disappears around the barn before Jared can get another word out.

They return to bucking hay in silence.

Jared’s gonna pay for his petulance later.


	24. Chapter 24

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

_____________________

It’s funny how slow the seconds tick by when you’re in a foul mood. Jared’s been in one for days, ever since his stupid outburst at the barn. Since he’d acted like a child and boiled over. Deep down, he knows it's guilt and humiliation, bubbling in the pit of his stomach, but all he feels on the surface is irritation.

Hasn’t been to a meeting in two days.

All day, he’s on edge, finding tasks he’d normally enjoy (or at the very least tolerate) excruciating. Scraping paint chips off the side of the house is like nails on a chalkboard. Washing the growing pile of dirty dishes is testing his patience. And every cell in his body seems to itch for a thrill. He wants — he _needs_ — to be with Jensen again. Needs to feel the way he made him feel during that first time — vulnerable, powerful, hungry, desired.

It comes with the territory, he figures. Being in love. It opens up your heart and soul — rips you apart and leaves you raw like exposed wires. The height of vulnerability.

Jared wouldn't wish love’s lowest moments on anyone.

~~~

The next morning, Jared finds a stash of empty beer cans in the basement while moving boxes. _Jeff’s_. It's not exactly a secret the guy had started up drinking again, just one or two before bed at first. Addiction is a hard habit to hide if you know the signs. And Jeff had all of ‘em — depression, slurred words, bloodshot eyes, reeking of Bud Light. Resigned himself to laying on the couch all day, sipping booze from an old Big Gulp cup he’d used and reused more times than Jared wants to think about.

But Jared keeps quiet. It’s none of his business anyway, what Jeff wants to do on his own time. He knows the guy is chest-deep in a custody battle over his daughters and the stress must be nearly killing him. Besides, it’s not like Jared’s responsible for the guy. And as long as he keeps on track with his own sobriety, what's it really matter?

The only thing that irks Jared is how he and Rush have had to pick up extra chores around the house — the work ethic of West Virginia addicts is non-existent.

Lately, though, he’s been noticing that Rush is getting lazy too. That he’s not up on the roof as much. That he’s stopped going to meetings. That he sleeps in until mid-afternoon and rolls out of bed looking red-faced and ragged.

Jared wonders what the world is coming to.

~~~

It’s with a heavy heart that he shows up at Jensen’s cabin door later that night. Three days since the outburst. Three days since they’ve spoken properly. But Jared’s got to _sack up_. He’s not gonna stand by and let someone else get close to what’s his.

“Hi,” he says, giving his best kicked-puppy look when Jensen opens the door.

“Hey." Jensen's voice is low, eyes raking over Jared’s body in a way that makes him weak in the knees. “Well, don’t just stand there.”

Jared steps inside, crosses the threshold but stays hovering near the door. Jensen takes up at the end of the bed, sitting with his hands folded in his lap, waiting for Jared to speak.

“So, um…” begins Jared, shuffling his feet and fixating on a knot in one of the floorboards. “I wanted to apologize for being such a prick the other day. I get all jealous and stupid when I see you helping other people. I know it’s dumb.”

“Knew you were avoiding me.” Jensen bites his lip. “So, what is it about doin' my job that makes you so damn jealous?”

Jared shrugs, kicks off his shoes and comes in. The time for honesty is now.

“Well, it's probably got a lot to do with the fact that you’re the first person that’s ever really mattered to me. The first person I actually care about. And it fucking scares me because I feel like it’s too good to last. Like I’ve got to protect it, or I don’t deserve it or something.” He scratches at the back of his neck, meets Jensen’s eye. “Kinda worried you’ll fall in love with the new guy instead of me.”

Jensen’s eyes soften. He blinks, lids heavy. Spreads his arms in invitation.

“C’mere.”

Jared walks to the bed and into Jensen’s arms, straddles his lap and lets his man pull him in, hold him close, like he’s the most precious thing in the world.

“You don't have to worry 'bout that.” He runs fingers through Jared’s hair, pets his cheek. “Crazy about you, Jared. Think about you every damn second.”

He cradles Jared’s face with his hands, stares into his eyes.

“And trust me… A feeling like this? Like what we got? Hell, it only comes around once, maybe twice, in a lifetime. And only if the stars align. Believe me, I ain’t just gonna fall for someone else.”

It’s everything that Jared’s known for weeks, _months_ even. That they’re one in a million, infallible, forever. Like soulmates or something. That it’s gonna take cosmic forces to rip them apart, and even so, they’ll cling together in the afterlife.

He closes his eyes, melts into Jensen’s touch, the gentle cupping of his cheek. It’s heaven. And he can’t believe he’s been so goddamn petty. He smooths his lips along the fleshy part of Jensen’s palm, kisses it.

“How can I make it up to you?” Jared hums, eyes flitting like a doe. Blinks once, twice in heavy flirtation.

Jensen grins, a little chuckle followed by a deep, throaty hum. He leans back, spreads his thighs like an invitation. “Figure it out.”

Jared’s always been a smart kid.

He kisses Jensen’s neck, then his chest through a Lynyrd Skynyrd T-shirt, and then slides _down-down-down_ until his teeth are dragging along belt buckles and blue jeans. Kneels at the foot of the bed, tucked between Jensen's legs like he’s begging for forgiveness. Penance.

He runs his hands up Jensen’s thick thighs. Spreads him a little further. Thumbs at the buttons on his jeans and inches the zipper down. Pulls his perfect dick out, half-swollen already. Just holds it there in his grip, appraising it’s girth, it's length... it’s _weight_. Stares at it, hypnotized, mouth watering and eyes all criss-crossy.

If this is Jared's punishment, he vows never to be good again.

As if possessed by it, Jared leans forward and breathes in his earthy scent, smelling him, drowning in it. It’s intoxicating. Rubs Jensen’s gorgeous dick along his cheeks, nose, lips. Listens as Jensen heavy-breathes above him, fingers combing through his hair, petting him like his favourite animal.

“Get this show on the road, kid,” he shudders, hands trembling and doing his best not to grab Jared by the hair and shove himself inside.

Knows Jared likes it rough.

He does what he’s told, plants a sloppy kiss at the base of Jensen’s cock then drags his dripping tongue along smooth ridge-skin till he reaches the head. Draws back and just stares, goes cross-eyed again, before leaning in to kiss the tip. Innocent. A tease. Kisses it _again and again and again_ , moving his lips at different angles, hitting every inch of swollen pink until he tastes pre-cum on his lips. Licks it clean.

“Ain’t gonna wait much longer,” growls Jensen, hands tightening in curly-boy hair, tugging until Jared’s eyes start to water. “Gonna teach you a lesson if you don’t get on with it.”

Jared just flutters there, bleary-eyed and dizzy, feeling like he’s floating above his body in la-la-land. He dips again, sliding his tongue along the length from the base to the tip, that perfect wet drag that makes Jensen’s knees quiver. Then Jared spreads his lips over the head until he engulfs the sugary tip and slides forward, sheathing that gorgeous prick in tight, wet heat.

The groan that falls from Jensen’s mouth is like a siren’s call, heady and inviting, as Jared sinks deeper, engulfing his cock to the hilt. He moans, _vibrates_ , as he holds himself there, feeling the weight of Jensen’s love on his tongue. In his throat. Hums and withdraws, sliding out and in again, _faster, faster_ , until he feels the preternatural _thud-thud-thud_ of prick-head down his hole. Prides himself that he doesn’t gag or choke, just takes him in, the smooth slide, as his own body responds, an insistent ache at his own cock.

Gonna cream his jeans like a goddamn pre-teen.

“Harder, boy.”

Eyes watering and cock throbbing, Jared does as he's told. Fucks his mouth on that dick until he gets dizzy with it. Loves the way he submits to his man like that.

Jensen's making keening noises. His hands shake on Jared's scalp. Does his best (Jared can tell) to keep hold of himself. To not yank Jared's head so rough he nearly passes out. To keep it nice.

Even recovered boys have their cheat days.

Jared nearly chokes when Jensen slides him off and shoves him to the floor. Flat on his back. Joins him there, climbing on top, crawling up a six-foot-four body until his thighs straddle Jared’s face. Puts his hands on the floor over Jared's head and hisses a desperate,

“ _Hit me if you want to stop,_ ”

before getting a split-second permission nod and shoving his dick back down Jared's throat, face-fucking him into the floorboards.

It's too fast, too hard, and too fan-fucking-tastic. So good Jared almost forgets to breathe.

_Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck —_

Out of control, animalistic, spluttering and pinned-down-ecstasy, and it’s gonna be over far too soon because Jared would never tap out from this sex high. And Jensen’s already sinking deeper on elbows and knees, making the most profane-in-the-brain noises, pounding at Jared’s poor throat until his eyes flutter…

And Jared just _lets him_. Lets his mouth muscles go pliant, his throat go easy, and his tongue get silky slick. Lets himself get lost in the wildness of them, two caged animals finding their freedom.

_More, more, more… don’t let it end yet…_

But it’s too good and Jensen's fuck noises are getting louder. Jared can feel Jensen's thighs start to shudder in warning. Jared grips them tight, holding on as Jensen fucks into him, muttering beautiful shit like,

_"Take it, take it... Shit, boy, 'm gonna come in that smart-mouth..."_

His throat-squeezes around Jensen’s dick at his own orgasm, ripping through him and blooming wet in his jeans. Then tongue-tastes the onslaught of Jensen pearl-white, spilling inside him as Jensen trembles through it, moaning like he's been pent up for years. Feeds his farm boy the nourishment he needs, lets it warm Jared’s belly. Breathes heavy into the floorboards.

Soon after, Jensen softens. Withdraws his spent cock with a whimper. Shimmies back down Jared's body till their hips are aligned.

Jared’s all fucked out and fragile, so Jensen’s strong arms tug at his shoulders, lift him up from under the armpits, and pull his body upwards until he’s curled into his chest, cradled tight, hugged good.

Jensen adorns his rose-red cheeks with kisses. Pets his hair and worry-whispers,

“Say that was okay. Jesus Christ, Jared, say that was okay...”

Jared smiles into his chest, exhausted. “Fuckin' duh, idiot.”

Jensen breathes a sigh of relief. Pauses. Hugs him tight.

“Jared, say you’ll let me love you forever…”

“Promise.”

Tucks his tired head into the crook of Jensen’s neck and drifts off in loving arms.


	25. Chapter 25

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

_____________________

Jensen’s gone when Jared wakes up.

He lazes in the double bed, stretches his bones and rolls over, rubbing at the cooled sheets on Jensen's side. Buries himself face down in Jensen's pillow, breathing in his scent — spice and fresh earth. It sends his brain into needy mode. Makes his hips grind down on the mattress and his asshole ache. They haven't fucked — _really_ fucked — since that first night. Jared's going stir-crazy.

Got a taste of a new drug and needs more.

Neurotransmitters firing on all cylinders.

After humping at the sheets for an hour, he gets up and hops in the shower. Jensen's cabin has got way better water pressure than the half-finished sober house. Jared thinks he would do well to just live here — play at being a house-husband. Waiting on Jensen to come home every evening with a pot roast and an eager mouth. Giving each other everything they needed.

He's got daydreams on the brain.

The barn is empty, save for the horses, when Jared goes to check for him. Gives Sadie a couple sugar cubes before heading up to Jacob's Ladder. It's almost lunchtime and his belly is rumbling. Runs into Grant in the mess hall while the rest of the recovery boys finish up yoga. The smell of beef stew fills the air.

"You seen Jensen around?"

Grant sips his coffee and nods. "Drove up to Morgantown this morning. Be back later."

"Morgantown? Isn't that like 50 miles from here?"

"Sure is."

Jared frowns. "What's he doing there?"

Grant raises an eyebrow. "How 'bout it's none of your damn beeswax?"

"Pssh," Jared balks. The audacity. "Jesus, how about I'm just _curious_?"

Grant grins into his mug. "Kid, don't think I don't notice how much you follow Ackles around like a damn puppy dog..."

Jared's cheeks go pink. _Fuck off_. "No, I don't."

The roll of Grant's eyes makes Jared's jaw clench. They let the silence linger between them for a moment before Grant speaks up again. Careful, in warning.

"Jensen's been alone for a long time. He ain't used to change."

It's a truth that Jared knows but doesn't acknowledge. Because falling for someone should be the easiest thing in the world. A welcome change. It's the waiting — the longing _,_ the in-between — that's getting to Jared.

"Don't know what you're talking about," he replies, both knowing it's a lie. Jared's getting good at deception again.

The rustling of recovery boys rolling up yoga mats and heading inside for lunch breaks the silence. As Grant rises to free up room at the table, he gives Jared a final caution.

"Don't push him, Padalecki. He don't do well with quick transitions. Neither do you."

It's a miracle that Jared holds his tongue. Only reason he does is because he's got nothing to say. Besides, who does Grant think he is, trying to talk shit like this?

Jared gets his hackles up. And gets 'em up good.

~~~

It's late afternoon when the Old Ford rumbles back up the dirt road and cuts the engine at the ranch. Jared's smacking bubblegum atop the sober house roof — hammer, nails, and shingles long since abandoned — squinting as Jensen makes his way back down the hill toward the barn.

Jared leans back on the roof, soaking in the West Virginia autumn sun.

_I'll give him ten minutes to get his head clear._

It's more like eight and a half when Jared climbs down off the roof, spits his gum out, and strolls back down towards the ranch. He's been dying to know all day just what Jensen's been up to. Hurts that he didn't mention it. Jared thought that people in love were supposed to tell each other everything. Maybe he's got a lot to learn.

He nods to Everett and Forrest as he passes the chicken coop, wondering briefly what they think of him. It wouldn't be wrong to say that Jared's been antisocial with the new guys, withdrawing into his strange alliance with the not-so-sober house boys. Figures it's not worth getting to know anyone new. He's got Jensen, after all.

When he approaches the barn he meets Jensen leading Black Lightning outside by the reigns. Jensen smiles from ear-to-ear, cheeks blushing, when he sees Jared.

"Well, hey." Jensen's eyes brighten as he and the horse come to halt. "Wanna come watch him run with me?"

Gosh, he looks so beautiful and happy to see Jared that it's almost enough to make him forget the irritation that's been festering under his skin. Almost.

"Sure," he says, shoving his feelings down for now.

They walk alongside each other until they hit the pasture, hidden behind the barn. Jensen gets Black Lightning inside the gate and then removes his bridle, letting him run encumbered. Joins Jared at the edge of the fence, where they lean in and watch the horse kick up and prance around like he's just found freedom.

Jensen laughs. "Damn, that's a happy guy."

They watch in the quiet as Black Lightning canters and gallops and spins around in circles, beautiful black mane and tail whipping majestically. At one point, Jared glances over at Jensen and notices a single tear gathering at the corner of his eye. Reaches over and thumbs at it, making Jensen blink.

"You softie..."

Jensen shoves him with his shoulder. Chuckles, "You just figuring that out?"

Turns out, they've both got bleeding hearts.

"Have you always been that way?"

Jensen takes a moment, then nods. "My old man used to call me that. ' _Soft_.' But it sure as hell didn't sound as nice as you say it." He takes a breath. "Joined the army to prove him wrong. Died before I got back."

Jared bites his lip to hold back tears. "Sorry."

"Don't matter," shrugs Jensen. "He never treated me right. My mom neither. Fucked up her spirit pretty bad." He watches the sun ripple off Black Lightning's velvet coat. "She's in an old folks home down in Tennessee. I visit her every now and then." He laughs quietly to himself. "Don't know why I'm tellin' you all this."

Jared reaches a hand over and soothes it along Jensen's forearm. Entwines their fingers and squeezes once before letting go. Practices patience and restraint. Waits for Jensen's cue. He gets it.

"Nuff about me," he says after a moment. "What'd you get up to today?"

Jared takes a deep breath. Watches the horse's frolicking slow to an easy canter and feels those longing feelings bubble up to the surface again.

"Bit of roofing, but I got bored. Ran into Grant at lunch. He told me you drove up to Morgantown."

Jensen nods. "Yep."

It's another waiting game, but Jared gives up on being patient this round. "And are you gonna tell me what you were doing there? Or..."

Jensen sighs. Doesn't divert his gaze from Black Lightning. "Not sure if I should."

It's not the answer he's looking for. Not in the slightest. He frowns, "Why not?"

Another sigh. Jared hates the sound of those. Watches the gears turn in Jensen's head as he weighs his options.

"Because I don't want you to — " He takes a deep breath and turns to face Jared. "Okay, I met up with my sponsor. Went to a meeting."

"A.A.? But - but you're a sober coach..."

"Hey, I've got my demons," says Jensen, a glint of black in his eye. "Always have, always will. That shit don't just go away."

It's hard to hear. Doesn't compute. Up until now, Jared's been under the impression that Jensen is invincible. That he's got all this addiction shit figured out. That he's _fixed_.

"Tell you the truth," continues Jensen, rubbing at the flat of his thumbnail, "I kinda scared myself last night. With you."

Jared furrows his eyebrow, wracking his brain to remember. Sure, things got a bit rough and tumble, but Jared likes that sort of thing. "I don't understand."

"There was a moment last night when I felt out of control. Like I got away from myself. Got into the headspace of old habits..." He flicks his eyes up to meet Jared's, then back down again. "Got scared. Couldn't sleep at all. Called my sponsor first thing in the morning."

_What the — is it my fault?_

"But... I liked it," says Jared, struggling to understand. "Liked the way we were together. I thought you did too."

"Yeah, I know." Jensen sighs again. Meets his eye. "I did like it, believe me. But there were just a couple seconds — _split-seconds_ — when I..." He shoves his hands in his pockets to hide the tremble. "It's hard to explain."

Jared puts a hand on his hip. "Well, try me."

"Damn it, I am tryin'," says Jensen, an edge to his voice as he pushes away from the fence. Takes a few steps and circles back. "I mean, shit, Jared, there ain't enough words to describe how I feel about you. I swear, I've got feelings goin' on that I don't even know what to do with. Feelings I ain't ever had before." He nudges at a patch of grass with his boot. "And, last night, I dunno, I felt like I got out of control for the first time since — Well, in a long time. I jus' didn't know what to do with it, so I went to a meeting."

Jared tries to take it all in. Thinks he sort of understands what he's describing — a compulsion, a feeling of helplessness, a lack of control. God knows Jared's been there. All too recently, he's been there. He decides to calm the fuck down and give Jensen the chance to get it all out in the open.

"And did the meeting help?"

Jensen takes a deep breath. "Yeah, it did. Helped a lot." He returns to the fence post where Jared is leaning. Stares him straight in the eye. Searches his soul for reassurance. "Here's the thing. Jared, I wanna be the best man I can for you. For us. And I'm gonna get there." He shakes his head, fear in his eyes. "But I'd be lyin' if I said this thing between us doesn't scare the hell outta me. I - I couldn't stand to lose you. Not now I know what's possible."

It feels like Jared's heart is thawing. He reaches out and strokes at Jensen's arms, clasps their hands together. "It scares me too. I've never felt like this before. We're alike in that way. And we're gonna make it work, together. I would never want to change that."

"Me neither," says Jensen, tears shining in his eyes. "Goddamn it, Jared. Why'd you make me fall for you like this, you smart-ass little shit?"

Jared grins. "You started it, asshole. And I'm not gonna let you end it."

They lean in to each other and kiss in spite of their fear, the sounds of horse hooves on green earth echoing peace off the West Virginia sunset.


	26. Chapter 26

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

_____________________

Two months have passed since they’d moved into sober house. Two months and they aren’t any closer to finishing the front deck than when the lumber got dropped off, three days in. Two months and Jared’s getting damn tired of being everyone’s chauffeur — he shuttles Rush to work at the mine at the crack of dawn, picks him up at six and helps Jeff get to town on dishwashing days at the diner. Does booze runs now too. Waits in the truck while Jeff runs in to grab a twelve-pack for midnight snack.

“Still ain’t tell nobody?”

Jared shakes his head. Guilt in his belly, loyalty in his lungs.

It’s the one thing he hides from Jensen and the rest of the staff. And hiding it's not hard. It’s not like anyone comes to check on them. Not like they need babysitting. After all, trust is the key pillar of success at Jacob's Ladder. But all the secrecy’s getting to him, no doubt about that.

Jared’s been spending less time on the ranch lately. With Doc travelling across country to drum up more funding and Craig with a newly collapsed lung from a horse-ride gone wrong, Jensen’s working triple-shifts with the new recovery boys. Has scarcely any time or stamina to spend time with (or fuck) Jared at the end of long days.

Long days turn into longer weeks.

Jared’s getting bored of playing second fiddle. Sick of hearing “ _s_ _orry, darlin’s_ ” and _“it’ll be back to normal soons.”_ He's stopped going down to the barn and the farm house for supper. Started biting his nails like he used to. Nothing to do at the house except jerk off and watch cartoons.

His veins have been itching for days. Itching bad.

The next-to-last straw comes at 11:59pm on October 5th. Jared's lying in bed, scratching at the wallpaper. It's been a full 23 hours and 59 minutes of his nineteenth birthday and no one's said a word. No "Happy Birthday" song or slice of cake. No claps on the back or thrown-together gifts.

No call from Dad. Haven't heard from him in months.

_Finally got his wish of getting rid of me._

He glances at the clock.

_12:00AM._

He stares at the ceiling. Dissociates till his body's numb and his brain’s dead-wave.

~~~

The real last straw comes the next day by way of telephone. Around five o’ clock on Friday date night, to be precise. He’s been looking forward to it all week.

“Jared,” says Jensen, sounding sad across the airwaves. "You not gonna want to hear this but —

“You’re cancelling,” says Jared, depression in his voice. Can't remember if he left his bed that day.

"I’m _so_ sorry, sweetheart. We’ve got a new guy arriving tonight. He’s right in the middle of detox and we're understaffed. All hands on deck.”

Jared pinches at the bridge of his nose. Something deep inside hurts and unhinges. “I never see you any more…”

“I know. I’m real sorry, Jared. I hate this,” Jensen hushes, heart-felt pain in his voice. “You haven't been to the barn in days... Can't you start comin' down again?”

“Too many people there.”

“Least I’d get to see you…” says Jensen, softly. “Listen, if me 'n Grant get things under control tonight, maybe I can find some time to pop up there and —“

“Oh, you’re gonna find time for me? Great.”

“Jared, come on. Don't —“

“Whatever," he resigns, dulling his senses. “When you find a spare second, let me know.”

“Jared, I — “

_Click._

The silence echoes in the empty house.

No one to keep him company except Misery. She's got a nasty way of talking too. Likes listing things.

_Percocet . . . Vicodin . . . OxyContin._

Jared can feel his brain de-aging. Reverting to old programming. Seven-year synapses firing up.

The blood itches under his skin, so he scratches at it with his fingernails. Grits his teeth till his jaw hurts. Grabs the keys to the Old Ford and leaves the quiet behind.

It’s four hours until he’s due to pick Rush up at the mine. Maybe he’ll drive into town, walk the streets for awhile. Just to see what’s around…

He swears he wasn’t looking for trouble, but it was only a matter of time until it found him again.


	27. Chapter 27

**~ ACT III ~**

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

_____________________

_One pill, two pill, three pill, four._

_Five pill, six pill, seven pill, more._

It’s difficult to keep track of the passage of time. Near impossible to tell when one moment ends and the next begins. Days, hours, minutes, and seconds dissolve like crushed powder in water — invisible, undetectable.

Time is funny like that.

So it’s a surprise when Jared looks at his phone one morning and sees four new voicemail messages from Jensen Ackles. The guy doesn’t know how to text for shit.

Woozy-headed, Jared holds the phone to his ear and dials his inbox. A low voice crackles over the speaker.

“ _Jared, hey, it’s me. Come to group today. You missed two in a row again.”_

Click. Next.

_“Hey, Jared. Wanna get your ass down to the barn tonight? Could use a hand shearing sheep.”_

Click. Number three.

_“Jared. It’s Jensen. Haven’t seen you around in a few days. Got the night off, finally. Come down for dinner. We can talk.”_

Click. And the last one.

_“Hey… I dropped by a couple times. Rush says you’ve got the flu? Gimme a call. Or drop by. Wanna help.”_

Jared groans and tosses his phone across the room. He feels like absolute shit. Like he got hit by an 18-wheeler and then forgot all about it. His muscles ache and he can barely move without wincing. Head’s about to split open with pain.

_Damn sunlight. Go away._

After fighting off sleep-deprivation, he finally wakes himself up enough to roll out of bed. He stumbles around his room in a daze and, _god damn_ , it shouldn’t be _spinning_ like this, should it? There’s an insistent press at his bowels, a threat of evacuation. Aches and pains be damned, he pushes his way out of his room and sprints down the hall into the bathroom. Slams the door and gets to the toilet just in time for his insides to explode. He’s got so much toxic coming out of him that he’s surprised he’s even conscious at all.

It’s agony. It’s disgusting. It’s just another hangover. So, when it’s over, he goes back to his room, digs around in his sock drawer and eats two fresh oxycodone. Feels the relief as they sink into his stomach lining.

Fall asleep, wake up, and do it all again tomorrow.

Fuck sobriety.


	28. Chapter 28

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

_____________________

The thing about pills is that they’re easy to hide. There’s no weed smell or whisky-breath. You don’t need to waste time cutting them up in little lines or melting them on a spoon. There are no syringes or crack pipes to stow away.

You just pop them in your mouth, swallow, and move on with your life.

Besides, pills are medicine. They make people feel better.

They make Jared feel better. About everything.

Suddenly, it doesn’t seem to matter much that the downstairs kitchen window is broken. The space-heater counteracts the cold draft at night, no problem. Driving is easier too — Jared can relax and focus less on wheel corrections or when to shift gears. It all seems to blend together like warm molasses. And he doesn’t see the value in going to group at the moment.

He doesn’t need it. He’s fixing himself. _H_ _is way_.

Because why would a bunch of strangers know what Jared needs? How could they understand? How are they qualified to tell him what’s what? How to cope with the endless onslaught of misery and disappointment that is his existence?

Most of all, Jared just needs to fuck something.

He hasn’t seen Jensen in a week. Hasn’t fucked him properly in three. Hasn’t even cared enough to jerk off since then. He feels like a goddamn _monk_ and it’s gotta change soon before he goes off the deep end. If he remembers right, the pill cocktail in his belly makes sex so languid and slippery and loose…

 _Oww_.

Jared winces. Didn’t realize he’d been clenching his fists so hard he’d pressed fingernail half-moons into his palms.

He’s tightly wound. Time for another round.

As he pops another Oxy (he’s lost count of how many he’s taken this week — he’s not even sure what day it is at this point), he breathes a sigh of relief as the pill slides down his throat, leaving chalk-marks on his esophagus. He can almost feel it hit the bottom of his stomach and dissolve. It feels heavy there — weighted, important, essential.

Like it’s anchoring him.

The adrenaline rush is over, the heart palpitations when you take a hit. When you first feel it in your mouth, your body. And as he waits for it to kick in, he thinks about how he got here. How he got to the point where popping pills in sober house is considered status quo.

It’s funny, really.

Jeff had started it all. He’d been smuggling in cans of Bud Light for more than a month now — hiding them in his baggy pants pockets, in his jacket, his backpack. Kept it hidden at first, but then one day at dinner, Rush mentioned the upstairs landing reeked of booze. That’s when Jeff went to his room and returned with three unopened cans of Bud. Jeff and Rush had both partaken, Jared had not. Alcohol had never been his drug of choice, nor did it call out to him like the siren song of oxycodone.

It was their dirty little secret. And Jared would be damned if he was gonna snitch. Jeff was one fuckup away from having his kids put into foster care till their eighteen and Rush, well, he was the closest he’d ever come to keeping clean and sober after a 12-step program, so a beer or two here and there wasn’t gonna hurt him.

Those are the lies you tell yourself.

Hell of a lot easier than facing the truth.

Jared had stayed clean at first, despite the beer cans strewn across the kitchen floor, Jeff passed out in the living room, the lingering smell of booze in the upstairs bathroom. Jared picked up after them, kept to his daily regimen as best he could — patching up bits of drywall, raking leaves in the yard, schlepping himself down to the ranch every now and then for group or for a hot lunch, grimacing at Brett from across the table.

Not seeing Jensen as much as he’d like to, he’d started retreating inward, opting for pills instead of feeling out of control. And, deep down, he’s ashamed. Ashamed he’s hiding this from Jensen, who for some reason seems to trust him implicitly. But Jared isn’t quite ready to succumb to all that guilt and worry just yet.

The pills are so good at not letting him feel things too deeply.

~~~

 _Knock, knock, knock_.

Jared hears pounding somewhere. Buried in his eardrums. His senses awaken slowly, however, all that easy-juice flooding his veins, making him want to sleep.

_Knock, knock, knock._

The pounding is insistent now. A harsh _thud_ on cherry wood. Jared blinks his eyes open, bleary. Takes a second to register where he is — that he’s, in fact, in his room, in his bed. No strangers next to him, _thank god_.

_Knock, knock, knock._

_Fucking FedEx_ , Jared curses from under the covers. Always shows up too early with the mail. Jared drags himself out of bed, knowing full well that the dude won’t leave until someone signs for packages. Lumber delivery or some shit. He stumbles his way down the hall, nearly tripping down the stairs. Scratches at his head, his hair sticking up every which way. He’s bone-weary, and the shadow at the door is getting bigger.

_Knock, knock, knock._

“All right, I’m coming.”

He takes a moment to unhinge the chain and click all the other ones unlocked. At last, he opens the door the find, not the FedEx guy, but a worried-looking Jensen Ackles.

“Oh, hey,” says Jared, straightening up, trying as best he can to look less rumpled. Smiles even though the sunlight feels like hot knives.

_I need a pill._

“The hell you lockin’ the door for? We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

Jared runs a hand through his own hair, trying to tame it. “Dunno, bears?”

Jensen’s not amused. He points a finger at the lock, just above the knob that Jared’s using as a crutch. “This door stays unlocked. It’s policy. Got that?”

“Fine,” Jared grumbles, stepping outside onto the makeshift deck, shutting the door behind him. “But you’re gonna be the one consoling Jeff when the Xbox gets stolen…”

Jensen ignores the comment. Instead, he scans Jared up and down. “Jesus, you look like you got hit by a semi.”

He makes a face. “Gee, thanks.”

“I’m serious,” Jensen says, stepping forward. Gives Jared a more comprehensive run down. “You don’t look like yourself.”

“Didn’t Rush tell you? I have the flu…” He gives Jensen’s chest a playful punch. “You know, you’re kinda _cute_ when you’re worried.” He leans in, but Jensen pulls back.

“You haven’t been down to the ranch much. Missed five meetings this week…”

Jared frowns. “That against the rules or something?”

Jensen sets his jaw. “No. But it ain't like you.”

“Told you, I’ve been sick,” he groans. His head’s really starting to pound. Got bad brain fog. “Been stuck in here. Doin’ fuck-all. Bored out of my mind.”

“Then come to group. I mean, _Christ_ , if you’re bored, I got three new baby lambs I could use a hand with or —”

“You know what?” snaps Jared, suddenly in a very bad mood. “I don’t appreciate you barging in on me so early, being all judgmental and shit.”

“It’s two in the afternoon,” says Jensen, furrowing his brow.

Jared feels Jensen’s gaze burn a hole through his skin. But he’ll be damned if he's gonna tell him the truth.

“Sorry,” he says, quiet and rubbing at his temple. “My sense of time is fucked. I’ve got a goddamn migraine and, guess what, there are no painkillers allowed in rehab.”

He’s pleased to see Jensen crack a smile at that.

Jensen reaches out and rubs at Jared’s cheek with his thumb. Sighs and gets all soft again,

“You know, if you’re sick you could come stay at my place for a few days. Craig's on the mend, so I'm back on double-shifts. Got more time now. And I make a mean chicken soup.”

The guilt nearly kills him. But he love-melts too. “Nah, I hate being around people when I’m sick. Prefer to just suffer through it on my own. Always have.”

Jensen frowns, nods. Doesn't seem convinced, but he goes with it. “Okay.” Leans forward and plants a kiss on Jared’s cheek.

“Get outta here,” says Jared, blushing and heart-bursting for the first time in days. “Don’t want you to catch my stupid germs.”

“I love every last one of your germs, Padalecki,” smiles Jensen before he turns and heads back down the hill.

As Jared stands there, watching him get smaller, tears of shame and regret burn at his eyes.

Makes a solemn vow to do better.


	29. Chapter 29

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

_____________________

After the visit from Jensen, Jared had marched straight back upstairs, popped two more Oxys, and got back into bed. Slept straight through until the next morning, when Rush wakes him at 6am.

_Groan. Chauffeur service._

“We gonna party tonight, man?” Rush asks in the truck on the way to work. He’s off the wagon too. Never felt right on it.

Jared’s got one pill left in his sock drawer. Needs a re-up. But the guilt weighs too heavy on his soul. He shakes his head, heart-racing,

“Dunno, man. Might try to play it straight tonight. Get back into things, maybe go to a meeting.”

“Good for you, man,” Rush nods as they pull up next to the mine’s entrance. “Well, I’ll see you tonight. Jeff’s gonna pick me up after his shift.”

Jared nods. On his drive home, he wracks his brain.

_One pill left._

It would be _so easy_ to join the guys tonight. Rush is gonna get smack from his miner friends, the sober house has locks on the doors, Jeff’s more than willing to cover for him. No one would ever know.

But then he thinks of Jensen. Imagines the look of disappointment on his face if he ever caught Jared using again. It was nearly enough to turn him off completely from pill-popping. To try to be better.

He could be better than this.

So at a quarter past eight in the morning, after a slice of toast with marmalade and a measly Oxy tablet — _his last one_ — to postpone the withdrawal, Jared moseys on down to the barn, ignoring the dull beginnings of a headache.

The smile from Jensen at the sight of his favourite farm-hand is enough to make everything perfect again. Jensen hands him a pitchfork and, when Jared takes it, gives him a good clap on the back and a wink.

They spend the day in the barn, then out in the field harvesting the last of the winter squash. They can’t really talk much — not to each other, there are too many other guys around — but there are longing looks and flirtatious smiles and accidental shoulder brushes. Anything to get close to each other again. To breathe the same air. To share the same space. They will soon enough.

Later, as they wash up for supper in the Jacob’s Ladder kitchen, Jensen leans over and mutters, “Any plans after dinner?”

“No,” says Jared, rubbing his temple, trying to ignore the slight itch under his skin. Thought he'd survive the cravings until morning.

Jensen’s eyes sparkle. “Wanna come over?”

“You aren’t busy?”

Jensen shakes his head. “Craig’s all mended up.” He smiles, “I’m all yours tonight.”

Jared’s heart soars, his toes tingle.

_Finally._

They finish their meals and after plates are cleared and washed everyone parts ways to do their personal time. Jared, on the other hand, follows Jensen out the back door.

“You look a lot better today,” says Jensen, on their walk down to the cabin. He raises a flirty eyebrow. “Much less homeless.”

“Less hobo, more homo,” quips Jared, tugging at his polo shirt that he _knows_ clings to him in all the right ways.

Jensen laughs, “Smart-ass.”

“Right back at ya,” grins Jared.

The energy between them resembles the moment before a firework explodes — you can see it wriggling around up in the sky, but it hasn’t caught fire yet. It’s the waiting that makes every sensation in Jared’s body heightened — including all the bad ones: the achey bones, the brain droop, itchy skin and racing thoughts. Tries his best to put pills out of his mind as Jensen then shuts the cabin door behind them.

The instant they’re alone, Jensen’s all over him — hands, lips, body. Pressed in close in the darkness and trying to crawl inside. Jared lets him.

“Missed you,” breathes Jensen between kisses, hands roaming around Jared’s chest like he’s gonna claw straight through.

“I missed you too,” rasps Jared, trying his best to keep up.

It’s not easy when his head is throbbing — his blood begging for a clean hit. But his dick throbs just as much, so he presses into Jensen, grinds his hips and lets him manhandle him onto the bed until Jared’s on his back and stripped naked.

Jensen gets on top, kissing from Jared’s dick to his neck and back again. Bruising, teeth-mark kisses that make his toes curl. Suckles at the head of Jared’s cock with those blowjob lips and swallows it whole.

Neither of them are patient this time. After a few glorious sucks at his dick, Jensen smooths his hands along the backs of Jared’s legs and gently bends them at the knees. Leans down and licks around Jared’s hole, slicking him up, pushes his slippery tongue inside in a way that makes Jared keen and moan.

 _God, he’s missed this_.

Soon, a finger (and then _two_ ) replace tongue and Jensen’s priming Jared for quick penetration. His insides ache with want.

“Please,” he hums, spread out on the bed, under Jensen’s thumb. “Need it.”

Jensen’s eyes alight. He reaches into the bedside table for the little bottle, uncaps it and slicks himself up as fast as he’s ever done. Says _‘fuck it’_ to being careful, lines himself up, and pushes in. Marks up Jared’s insides forever.

It’s good. So good. Achy and dragging and not quite ready for all those brutal inches, but he takes it anyway because he needs it. Needs to remember how good things can feel without Oxy. How to experience life with all its thorns, the aches and the pains and the sensations that you miss when you’re head-sick.

Like this.

 _This_ — getting fucked by Jensen — is anything but hollow. It’s ecstasy. World-changing, life altering. Ruined for everyone else that comes along. The type of feeling you spend the rest of your life chasing, trying to fill the hole with pleasure things.

Jared’s getting desperate again.

“Wanna be on top,” he moans, pressing in closer, closing the gap between their bodies and kissing Jensen like a horny housewife. Let’s his knees fall to the sides to show just how pliant he is. “Wanna ride you. Fuck you like a girl would.”

Jensen groans, lust overtaking him. Lets the sweet sounds of his teenage sex kitten shatter his bones. He pulls out and shifts onto his back. Lies flat and watches, rapt, as Jared climbs on top, straddles his hips.

“Wanna fuck you like we’re married,” hums Jared, putting a thumb in his mouth and biting down.

“ _Jesus_ ,” Jensen curses, lashes fluttering in love and lust. Places husband-hands on Jared’s hips. “C’mere.”

Pulls Jared down onto his chest, kisses him like wedlock. Jared reaches between his legs and finds Jensen’s cock, rubs himself on it until it’s lined up right. Eases back, let’s him sink in.

“Ohh,” they moan in tandem. Rocking and rutting in marital bliss. Melding into each other’s bodies. Jared wishes he could dissolve right in.

The new, more intimate position, really gets Jared going. As he slides in and out, purposeful and practiced, he loses himself in the hypnotic rut, starts to get all bleary-eyed. Starts kissing — well, more like licking, teething at, _breathing_ — along Jensen’s skin. Cheek, collarbone, chest… Bites at his right nipple and then burrows himself at his ear, saying guilt-words,

“Never gonna let you down again. Never gonna hurt you.”

He’s too far gone to see that half of Jensen melts from the romanticism of it, the other half raises his guard. Can’t quite see Oxy dreams in Jared’s eyes, but has seen enough to sense their shadows.

“Gonna take care of you, Jared,” he hushes, silent tears burning at his eyes. “No matter what.”

It’s all he’s ever wanted, needed, to hear. All the words he’s never gotten from his family, lawyers, or friends. That he’s going to be okay. That someone in the world is looking out for him. Has his back. It spurs him on.

He pushes himself upright, hands on Jensen’s chest and sinking back on his beautiful cock until he bottoms out.

Jensen ramps up his thrusts now, wrapping his hands around Jared’s waist, guiding him up and down, _harder, harder_. Then wraps one around Jared’s dick, fist-fucking the head until he’s keening. Clutches him tight, _closer, closer_ , desperate and delirious.

“Love you,” Jared whines, pressure building deep within at the way Jensen pistons inside him, cock-head nudging against that _oh-so-sweet_ spot. Can’t take much more of it.

Jensen, too, shudders and shakes, his own orgasm driving him to the edge. Clutches at Jared like the world is ending as he unloads, releasing white-hot seed inside his lover while murmuring, “My boy…”

The feel of it, the salt-spilled love coating his insides, makes Jared weak. He _comes_ in Jensen’s grip, all over their bellies. Lets the unmistakable tang of ejaculate overwhelm his senses, hit his nostrils and swallow it down. The pheromones, the testosterone, the promise of new life and love.

They collapse into each other for quite some time, Jared pressed against Jensen’s chest, ignoring the mess they’ve created. Eventually, Jensen kisses Jared’s neck, shifts, making sticky sounds from where he’s buried inside Jared.

“I love you, too,” whispers Jensen, nuzzling Jared on the cheek. “Wanted to wait till after to say it.”

Jared’s feeling more impish than lovey-dovey. The headache that had faded during sex is starting to twinge at his left temple.

“You’ve ruined me,” he grins, running a fingertip through his own come and rubbing it on Jensen’s tongue. “Ruined me for everyone else. Are you happy about that?”

Jensen hums into Jared’s skin, a smile at his lips. “Who’s _everybody else_? You’re mine, forever, darlin’.”

He kisses Jared full on the mouth, fleshy and warm. And, somehow, this kiss is even better than the sex they’d just had.

Because there’s love in it. Trust. Fatality. The death knell kiss.

His head’s fucking _killing_ him.

Jared can feel the downward spiral coming a mile away.


	30. Chapter 30

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

_____________________

Eventually, they untangle.

Clean up and towel off, crawl back into bed to snuggle for awhile.

But as they lie together in darkness, Jared can’t ignore that cursed voice in his head. The devil on his shoulder.

_Gonna detox real quick if you don’t do something._

“Shut up,” Jared breathes against Jensen’s neck. Squirms and covers his ears. Doesn’t work.

_You can’t go through it again. You aren’t strong enough._

“Stop…”

It’s breaking his brain.

Wants to rip off all his skin and start fresh — new lungs, new liver, new heart.

Jensen stirs, blinks awake. “You mutterin’ in your sleep?”

There’s an itch he just can’t scratch. It claws up his insides. Makes him do stupid things like climb on top of Jensen and kiss at his chest. Purrs,

“You know what I want right now?”

“What?” hums Jensen, combing fingers through Jared’s hair.

“Ice cream.”

Jensen scoffs. “Ice cream. Right.”

“I’m _serious_ ,” Jared whines, swirling his tongue around Jensen’s nipple. “Got a craving.”

Jensen sits up on his elbows, blinks. “Sorry, kid. I’m fresh out.”

It’s a damn shame that Jared knows exactly how to get his just deserts. He leans in, plants a deep kiss on Jensen’s lips, swirls around his tongue in that perfect way he always does to get guys to do what he wants.

“The 7-Eleven’s open…”

“In _town_? Jared, it’s midnight.”

“Come _on_ ,” he begs, kissing down Jensen’s chest, pausing to swirl his tongue around his navel. “Thought you liked when I licked things.”

Jensen lets out a breathy sigh when Jared drags his teeth along his hipbone. Grins, “Sweetheart, I sure as hell don’t need ice cream to remind me how good your tongue works.”

“Come on, please?” Jared bats his eyelashes as he kisses _down, down, down_ until his lips ghost at where Jensen’s swelling up. “It’s _romantic_.”

He swallows thick dick in one swift slide, making Jensen moan like a bitch in heat.

“Jesus Fucking Christ, _fine_ ,” hums Jensen, mid-shudder. Puts his hands behind his head, letting Jared convince him. “But first, finish what you started, boy. Nobody likes a tease.”

After a messy blowjob and a twenty-minute truck ride, they reach the edge of town.

“7-Eleven or Sunoco?”

Jared doesn’t hear him. He’s distracted. Too busy scanning the streets for potential pill-dealers.

“Jared... Where’re we goin’, bud?” Jensen repeats with a slight edge. He’s suspicious, somehow. Got his wits about him.

“Oh, yeah, 7-Eleven,” he hums, absently. “Just park wherever.”

They pull up at the edge of the service station parking lot. It’s just after midnight, but a healthy crowd gathers around the entrance, drinking from flasks and paper bags, eating Doritos, sipping Slurpees.

Jared recognizes a few undesirables, who give him head nods.

 _They’ve got pills. They’ve got pills_.

Jensen frowns. “Friends of yours?”

“Couple guys from Rush’s work,” he says, distracted. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

He hops out of the truck before Jensen has a chance to protest. Trots along the parking lot and inquires, under his breath, about who’s holding tonight. Gets drug-directions to some bartender named Ricky at The Tipsy Bear who’s got everything from Adderall to Zaleplon.

Nearly forgets about the ice cream.

Back in the truck, it’s awkward silence as Jared pushes a plastic spoon around ribbons of chocolate fudge. Can’t be bothered to take a bite with a headache the size of Texas.

“What’s goin’ on, Jared,” says Jensen, after awhile.

The _softness_ of his voice scratches Jared’s brain like nails on a chalkboard.

“Nothing,” he lies. Palms sweating. Can’t take it much longer. Wants to run. Can’t come clean.

_You can quit tomorrow._

“Jared. Something’s wrong. Just tell me.” He’s quiet. Nerve-wracked. Knows something’s up.

Jared shifts in his seat. Feels put on the spot. There’s a nervous flutter in his body, a moment’s hesitation. A point of no return.

_Fuck it._

He huffs a strange laugh and nods across the street to The Tipsy Bear, where neon _Coors Lite_ and _Budweiser_ signs colour the corner like Christmas lights.

“You know what would be funny?” he says, nodding across the way, his voice all high and weird. “If we went in there together.”

There’s a cold chill in the air. Words hanging in the silence.

Jensen furrows his brow. “And what in God’s name would be funny about that? C’mon, Jared. What’s really —”

“We should do it though,” adds Jared, feeling manic. Sugar-high. Desperation in his veins. He pulls at the door latch, gets out. “C’mon, it’ll be _fun_. We don’t have to drink.”

Jensen pulls back, his mouth agape. Stunned, in a stupor. “Jared, I… I can’t believe I’ve really got to say this, but I can’t go in there.”

“Come on, you’ve got _twelve years_. Don’t you trust yourself by now?”

“No, I don’t,” says Jensen, crossing his arms. Shakes his head, at a loss. “What’s gotten into you?”

Jared masks how terrible he feels, the guilt and the shame and the humiliation, by rolling his eyes. “ _Nothing_ … I’m just trying to have some _fun_.”

Jensen sets his jaw. “Guess we got different definitions of the word. Hell, I thought we were already havin’ fun.”

Jared feels like _shit_ , in every possible way — physically, emotionally, psychologically.

 _You are such a fuck up_.

Hangs his head. “I’m sorry. That was stupid. I don’t know why I said that.”

There’s a long pause before Jensen replies,

“It’s alright. Just get back in the truck, okay?”

Jared doesn’t budge. Not one inch. Instead, he shuffles his feet on the pavement, knowing there’s no coming back from what he’s about to do.

“I’m still gonna go.”

Jensen shakes his head, dumbfounded. “What?”

“Not gonna do anything,” Jared lies, softens. “Just gonna hang out.”

“You can’t promise that,” says Jensen, gritting his teeth. “C’mon, don’t throw away all the progress you’ve made. Just get in the truck. I can help.”

_Too late for that now._

When Jared still doesn’t budge. Jensen starts to shake, gets panicky.

“Jared, if you go in there… I can’t — you gotta know I can’t follow you. That you’re on your own. I ain’t…” His trembling hand reaches inside his jeans pocket, where Jared knows he keeps his sobriety chip. Gets afraid and angry all of a sudden. “Jared, I gotta get out of here. _Now_.”

“Then go. I’ll call Jeff. Get him to come get me.”

“Don’t do this,” Jensen pleads, hands shaking on the wheel. “Please Jared, get in the truck or _I swear to God_ I’m gone.”

Turns the ignition key till it roars to life. The sound sends shockwaves through Jared’s pill-rattled head. In the blink of an eye, he scampers across the front seats and kisses Jensen, quick and desperate. Hums at his ear,

“Not gonna be stupid, I promise. I love you.”

“Don’t you dare,” grits Jensen, jaw quivering. “Don’t you dare say that. Not like this.”

Puts the truck in ‘drive,' hand trembling on the gearshift.

“I’m sorry.”

Jared turns and runs across the pavement, towards the neon lights, ignoring angry shouts of “Jared… _Jared!_ ” and the shriek-squeal of when the rubber meets the road.

~~~

The rest of the night’s a blur.

Jared doesn’t remember when he took the pills or how many. Doesn’t know where they came from or who gave them to him. All he knows is that he’s high as fuck and having the best night he’s had in a long time. Barely remembers the _totally-straight_ guy he made out with in the bathroom or the drunk girl who tried to suck his dick behind a dumpster. Might’a let her, too, his brain’s that hazy.

Now he’s 4am and woozy, riding shotgun while Rush rolls his Chevy back up to the sober house.

“Keep this between us, kay?” slurs Jared, toppling out onto the grass.

Rush grins. “City boy’s got secrets. ‘Bout damn time.”

Jared picks himself up off the grass, body buzzing. His one-track mind needs to find a warm bed. Now.

He stumbles into the house and up the stairs to his bedroom. The whole house is quiet — save for the muffled echo of the living room TV, where Jeff has fallen asleep almost every night this month. He tip-toes across the creaky landing until he reaches his door, pushes it open…

Two solid hands grip his face in the dark. Pulls him into a broad chest. Hears a whispered, “ _Thank god_ ,” that would startle him if he weren’t so _out of it_.

_Need. Sleep._

Heart beating, his guardian angel pulls off Jared’s sweat-soaked shirt, undoes his dusty jeans and eases him into bed. Closes his eyes but can still hear soft _pitter-patter_ pacing. Little tough-love words,

“Worried about you. Do you understand?”

“ _Yes_ ,” hums Jared, sleep overtaking him. The last thing he needs right now is a lecture.

He feels the bed dip, a warm body press against him. A nose, lips, buried in his neck, breathing him in. Feels nice.

“Almost lost you. Tell me I didn’t lose you…”

Jared drifts off. “ _Right here_.”

Falls asleep mid-sentence, the hush of un-remembered words in his ear.


	31. Chapter 31

CHAPTER THIRTY

_____________________

The room is spinning when Jared wakes up.

_Easy does it._

His arm’s asleep from sleeping on it all night. He slides it to the side, feeling pins and needles on the cold patch of bed where a former warm body had left an indent. At least, he _thinks_ there’d been a body there — he can’t be sure. But there’s a faint smell of campfire smoke and apple spice.

Familiarity. _Family._

It takes awhile to wake his body up. Has to fight through groggy fog and push the sandman away. By his brain-dead calculation, he’s about fifteen minutes away from the biggest hangover of his life.

_No, thank you._

He gets up and stumbles across the room, digs around in his strewn-about jean pockets for his brand new stash…

Nothing.

The pockets are empty — he’s missing the baggie he’s sure he’d hidden there last night. He rifles through them again, scouring denim nooks and crannies, shaking them loose. _Nothing_.

“Where the fuck…”

He’s getting frantic now. He marches next door, banging on bedroom doors before barging in. “Rush, have you seen my pills? Jeff?”

“No,” groans Rush, still half-asleep. “Jesus, I can get you more tomorrow…”

“I had some and they’re missing.”

“Maybe you ate ‘em last night?” hums Jeff. “Heard you get home late.”

“No, no, no. I had them in my pocket when I left the bar and when I got home to my room and got put to bed, I…”

He stops, mid-sentence. Because the terrible thought suddenly strikes him — the person in the shadows, the last thing he saw before falling asleep.

His guardian angel…

 _Jensen_.

“Shit, I gotta go,” he says, feeling sick to his stomach. Runs back to his room and pulls on fresh clothes. Flattens his bedhead as best he can and rushes down the stairs and out the door.

Jared’s got major brain fog. And the mid-afternoon air is annoyingly fresh as he marches down to ranch, headed straight for the barn. He’s got no plan — no idea of what to say when he shows up and sees Jensen tending to Black Lightning in the stables. Alone.

“Where is everybody?”

Jensen startles, caught off guard by the sudden invasion. “Group meeting. You should try one sometime.”

Jared shuffles around. He’s not in the mood for chit-chat. Plus, the animal smells are making him sick.

“Hey, um, were — were you in my room last night?”

Shoulder-muscles flex as Jensen straightens up, activates _soldier-at-attention_ mode. Turns a horseshoe over in his hands before turning to face Jared.

“Now, why on god’s green earth would I be in your room?”

There are dark circles under Jensen’s eyes. Jared’s never noticed them before.

He grits his teeth. “Don’t bullshit me, man.”

“Ha. That’s rich, comin' from you.”

Jared scuffles his toe against the dirt. He doesn’t have the patience to dick around today. Decides to just come clean. “Did you _take_ something from my room last night?”

“Like what?” Jensen asks. Takes a step forward, getting in his space. Testing him.

“Come on, Jen,” says Jared, staring at his feet in shame. He's damn tired of the runaround. “You know what.”

Jensen clenches his jaw. Affixes those electric green eyes on Jared as he digs in his back pocket. Unearths a bag of white pills. “You mean these?”

Jared bites his lip. There’s a swell of mixed emotions flooding his body, acting like a catalyst for his raging Oxy hangover. At once, his shoulders drop with relief at locating his stash while his heart races with terror at what Jensen’s gonna do. Or say.

If Jensen says half the shit Jared's inner voice tells himself, he can’t possibly survive unscathed.

Instead, Jensen steps forward and places a hand on Jared’s arm. Rubs his thumb at his skin. The tenderness of it nearly makes Jared implode in on himself. Crumble into pieces.

“Relapse is part of recovery,” says Jensen, soft, measured. “It’s okay. I know you didn’t want this. It happens.”

Shame turns to anger in an instant. He hates the way Jensen’s being so fucking _nice_ about all this. The way he’s dangling _his freakin’ stash_ over him. Asshole.

“So, what, you’re gonna give me the whole ‘I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed’ speech?”

“Don’t kid yourself, I’m mad as hell,” says Jensen, throwing his arms up. “Ain’t mad at you, though. I’m mad at myself for going through your things. For not calling Doc the second I found these. Still haven’t.” He grips the pill-bag in his fist. Shakes his head, exasperated. “So goddamn angry for not being the person you needed these past few weeks.”

Rage rips through Jared like wildfire. Can't stand the truth anymore. Knows he's the only one to blame but can't bring himself to admit it. Instead, he snaps. Lashes out, each syllable slicing like a blade.

“You don’t know what the fuck I need!" he screams, face turning red. "You could NEVER. Nobody ever has and nobody ever _WILL_.” The words — the _pain_ — sears at his throat, puts the horses on edge. His chest wracks with shudder-sobs that soon give way to a profound hollow of despair. He quiets, body curling in on itself. “I - I can’t do it. I’m not supposed to be somebody sober… It’s not me. Jensen, I can't —”

Jensen steps forward, hugs Jared to his chest. Pulls him tight to safety.

“Used to tell myself that, too. That I was meant to be a fuckup or something.” Jensen pulls back slightly, hands steady on Jared’s shoulders. Stares him in the eye. “But it’s all bullshit, Jared. Bullshit we tell ourselves to avoid the truth. That there’s a black hole inside us that ain’t ever gonna get filled. And it sucks and it hurts and it’s impossible… but we suck it up and we go to a meeting and we _talk about it_. You hear me?”

There are tears in Jensen’s eyes. His lip quivers as he takes a breath.

“You’ve been sober before and you can get there again.”

Jared shuts his eyes. Slumps his shoulders and sighs, belly roiling with pain and denial — the devil’s cocktail.

“Please, don’t ‘therapize’ me right now. Can't stand it,” he pleads, whisper-quiet, avoiding eye contact. “Just want my pills.”

Jensen glances at the baggie held tight in his hand. Tucks them in his back pocket. “Can’t give these to you, Jared.”

The cocktail turns to fear, anger, desperation.

“Give me my pills, Jensen…”

When Jensen stands firm, Jared clenches his fists and steps forward, gritting his teeth and giving his best _don’t fuck with me_ glare.

“Give. Me. My. Fucking. Pills.”

Jensen bites his bottom lip. Jared can see the weakness named 'love' in his eyes, but he stands strong. “No.”

They stare at each other in silence, the air between them sparking with electricity. Soon, Jared relents.

“Fine. I’ll just drive to town and get more.” He turns on his heel.

A strong hand tugs him back. There's real fear in Jensen's eyes. “Don’t do this, Jared. Christ, don’t make me stop you.”

Jared yanks his arm from Jensen’s grip and laughs, mirthless. “Ha! You said it a million times... there’s nothing you _can_ do. I have to want to stop for myself, remember? _'Ain't nobody can decide for you'_ and all that shit? And you thought I never fucking listened...”

Jensen’s face crumbles. Lets himself slip from compassion to despair. Gets desperate. Falls to his knees and finger-scrabbles at Jared's thighs. Prays to a God that isn't listening.

“Please, Jared, I - I'm askin' you. Begging. Let me love you right. Let me fix it.”

“It’s too late,” says Jared, trying to push down the darkness that threatens to stifle him. He can’t look at Jensen or he'll give in — dissipate like a kicked up cloud of dirt. “I don’t wanna stop. Not going to. Won't ever.”

One step forward, two steps back.

“Then come to my place,” whispers Jensen, a last-ditch effort from the ground. There are silent teardrops on faded bluejeans. “Do ‘em in front of me so I know you’re safe.”

Jared takes a step back, suspicious. “You think I'm stupid? Not gonna fall for some dumb shit like that…”

“No tricks, I swear it.”

At last, Jared looks in Jensen's eyes and sees the truth there in earnest. Brilliant green and teary. Jared shakes his head and sighs. Clenches his jaw. “Need two now. Then I'll think about it.”

Something breaks in Jensen — in his very spirit, his essence — as he swallows his pride, then reaches into his back pocket and withdraws two Oxy tablets from the bag. Can't bear to meet Jared's eye as he holds out his hand and lets him snatch and ingest the twin pills.

_Light relief. Ill at ease._

"I'll come down later tonight," Jared murmurs in shame. He leaves the barn and Jensen in it. Doesn't look back at the kneeling figure on the dusty floor, head in his hands.

When things go wrong, Jared goes with them.


	32. Chapter 32

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

_____________________

Jared and Jeff spend the afternoon sipping vodka (straight up) and driving nails into wood planks. The wrap-around patio’s getting pulled together now that Doc’s a few days away from being back at Jacob’s Ladder. He’ll check on them for sure — their progress, the house plans, every nook and cranny. Consequently, the boys have been spending the mornings tidying up — ditching bags of empty bottles in town, burning up 12-pack boxes in the wood stove, hiding pill bags and liquor flasks in crawl spaces and sock drawers.

Putting the “sober” back in sober house. In name only.

They whip up a pot of Kraft Mac & Cheese for dinner and dig a couple beers out of the mini-fridge in the cellar. Plunk themselves down on the couch in front of the TV, flipping the channel to _Divorce Court_. The confession spills from Jared’s mouth before he can tell his brain to shut it.

“Jensen knows.”

Jeff turns to him, mid-bite. Swallows a mouthful of KD down and furrows his brow. “Knows what?”

“Knows that I’m, you know, using and shit.”

Jeff blinks once, twice. Can scarcely believe his ears. “You serious? Ackles fuckin’ knows? Are you, what the —”

“He was in here the other night, checking things out. Found my fucking pills.”

“He found your — holy _shit_.” Jeff’s eyes widen. “He knows about me n’ Rush too?”

Jared shakes his head. “Don’t think so. Might suspect something though. He's not stupid.”

The bottle in Jeff’s hand makes a _sloshing_ sound as he tips it up and takes two giant swigs. Gets angry real quick.

“Fuckin’ knew you were gonna ruin it for us. I mean, Jesus Fuckin’ Christ, Jared! Why you gotta spend so much time with the guy? What're you, a snitch? What're you, suckin’ each other’s dicks or somethin’?”

“No,” says Jared, quietly. He bows his head, cheeks turning red. A brand new colour of shame burns inside him.

Jeff gets on his feet now, pacing back and forth, abandoning his mac n’ cheese and opting for a liquid diet instead. “We’re dead. We’re fuckin’ _dead_ , Jared. That means Doc knows too… you goddamn _shit_.”

“No, he hasn’t told Doc,” says Jared, ears burning. “He won’t. I swear.”

“Who the fuck you kidding, son? Ackles is so far up Doc’s ass he can’t see the light of day. Goddamn it, they’re gonna shut this whole place down. Gonna lose my _kids_.”

“He’s won't say anything, I _swear_ ,” urges Jared. He stands up, hands shaking. “I’ll make sure of it. Seeing him tonight.”

Jeff downs the rest of the bottle. “You better make sure. Or Jared, I swear to God, I’m gonna stomp a mudhole in you the size of West Virginia.” He storms out, back down to the cellar for more brew, leaving Jared alone and soulless in the living room.

~~~

At a quarter past eight, Jared’s veins begin to itch. He pulls himself out of bed, where he’s been brooding alone for the last three hours, and makes his way downstairs, tip-toeing across the landing where Jeff’s passed out in the blue glow of the television. Pulls on his work boots and heads down the dirt road towards the ranch.

There’s a new bottomless pit in his belly. Feels like a black cloud, a whirlpool of dark energy, swirling and whirling around inside him. Like his nerves are wracked — guilt, shame, despair. Jared knows just what he needs to fill it up. To make it smooth around the edges.

_One Oxy. Two Oxy._

In a haze of delirium, he knocks three times when he reaches the cabin door. Jensen answers, looking worse for wear. Got worry-lines on his face and a darkness in his eyes that makes the cloud in Jared’s belly churn faster.

Looks older too. World-weary.

“Hey,” says Jared, following him inside and closing the door.

Jensen doesn’t respond. He just heads back towards the kitchenette to finish washing the last few dishes.

Jared hasn’t got time for the guilt that creeps around his bloodstream. So he puts on his best sex-kitten voice and waltzes over to Jensen, wraps his arms around his middle, hugging at his back.

“You gonna make me ask for them? Really, Ackles?”

He can feel Jensen’s muscles tense, arms and shoulders flexing. Preparing for war. Then, Jensen sighs. Resigned. He nods toward the bedside table.

“There’s two in there. Don’t ask me where the rest are.”

Jared plants a kiss below his ear. Unwinds his arms and trots over to the bed, pulls the drawer open and pops the two pills into his mouth. Swallows them down like candy.

Gets a way-better-than-sugar rush.

Before he shuts the drawer, he spots Jensen's bronze sobriety chip. He takes it out, rubs his thumb over the inscription:

_To Thine Own Self Be True._

_Unity. Service. Recovery. XII._

Twelve years. It seems impossible. Can’t even imagine the type of discipline that takes.

As he returns the chip to the drawer, he notices another artifact, tucked close to the back. Pulls on a metal ball chain and liberates a pair of dog tags. The first one is familiar enough, embossed with tiny letters:

 _Ackles  
_ _Jensen R.  
_ _123-45-6789  
_ _O Neg  
_ _No Preference_

It’s the other tag that catches Jared off guard. Foreign lettering scratches at his thumb:

 _Harris  
_ _Michael J.  
_ _987-65-4321_  
 _B Pos  
_ _Protestant_

It’s a name he’s never heard uttered aloud. He stares at the two tags together, linked up. Ball and chained. Before his brain can put two and two together, there’s a heavy stomp of boots on the floor and a hand that snatches it out of Jared’s grasp.

“The hell you doin’ with that?” says Jensen, voice rough and shaky. He throws the tags back into the drawer and slams it shut, making the lamp topple over and crash to the floor, shattering. “ _That ain’t yours to look at._ ”

Jared cowers, shrinks himself at the edge of the bed. Feels small under Jensen’s towering figure. Fists clenched, muscles tensed.

“I - I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

“Ain’t yours to _TOUCH_.”

Jensen’s entire body is shaking now. He’s pacing back and forth on his feet, not sure what to do with his hands. Runs a palm over his face, scratches at the back of his neck.

He’s got demons in him begging to get let out.

“Jensen, I’m _sorry_.”

At those words, at the quiet innocence in Jared’s voice, Jensen dissolves. Drops to his knees at Jared’s feet, face falling, fingers trembling at his hips. Gets sad. Lifts Jared’s T-shirt and kisses at his belly, humming, “ _I’m sorry, I’m sorry_.”

Scrabbles at the waistband of Jared’s jeans, undoing the button and inching the zipper down. Buries himself there, teary-eyed and remorseful.

“Shouldn’t’ve yelled like that. ‘M sorry. Not your fault.”

Pulls Jared’s half-hard cock out and swallows it down without hesitation, shoving inches down his throat until it’s slicked up and swollen. Sucks at it like it’s worship — like it’s the elixir Jensen needs to survive. To be okay again.

“’S okay,” says Jared, breath-hitching at the glorious wet sounds and the perfect warmth of Jensen’s sugar mouth.

Jensen hums, making pretty vibrations around Jared’s dick. Encapsulating it as he plunges deeper and _deeper_ , sucking on it — _on, off, up, down, faster, faster_ — like it’s a pretty popsicle on the hottest day of the year. Chokes it down, humming beautifully, tears wetting his cheeks.

Jared’s gonna blow his load real soon. Embarrassingly soon. But he feels so high on Oxy and Jensen’s desperate mouth that he just lets it happen — starts floating out of body, belly fluttering and head-spinning.

Puts a gentle hand on Jensen’s head in warning. “Jen… Jen… I’m gonna…”

And Jensen gets _deeper_ somehow, swallows him down until his blowjob lips reach dick-root. Holds him there, warming him, hands gripped tight around his waist, as Jared empties into him. Comes down his thick throat like it sustains him. Like he's begging for forgiveness.

 _Oh goddd_.

Jared’s high on the rush of two clean pills and an impatient orgasm. The Oxy swell in his veins, the chemicals hitting his brain. The adrenaline of a good poisoning.

It’s heaven. It’s hell. It’s not gonna end well.

Jensen slides off just in time to taste some of Jared’s salt-wet love on his tongue, savours it as he _transforms_. Draws himself up tall, like a terrifying soldier. Pushes Jared down on the bed and yanks his jeans down past his ass. Towers over him as he undoes his own jeans and pulls his dick out, thick, heavy, and leaking.

Jensen’s chest is heaving, lungs opening and closing, trying to discipline himself when the last of his defences are being breached, walls crumbling. There’s a darkness to him when he’s like this. It’s a little scary. Unknown. All the bad parts he’s worked so hard to keep in check.

Jensen’s been under control for far too long.

“Turn the fuck over.”

Jared whimpers, needy and keening, as Jensen flips him onto his belly, bare-ass hanging off the edge of the bed. Grabs lube from the bedside table and squirts it on Jared’s opening, cold and imprecise. Holds one of Jared’s ass-cheeks open while the other hand slaps down hard on his hole, making Jared yelp and flinch with pain.

He swears his own dick’s getting hard again as Jensen shoves his thick thumb inside, roughing up the edges. Then withdraws it and pushes two fingers in deep, scissoring them against velvet pink insides, making Jared’s eyes roll back in his head. He moans, fucking himself back onto Jensen’s fingers. Winces at the agonizing stretch, breathing little whine noises into the mattress.

In too short of time, the scissor of fingers gives way to the press of cock-head, primed for penetration. Feels Jensen’s cock slide between the soft folds of his skin, slicking itself. Readying it.

“Gonna hurt,” grunts Jensen as he grips the root of it, lining it up at Jared’s entrance.

Jared winces. “Kay.”

All together too soon, Jensen pushes in, slides right past tight muscle and into velvet bliss. Kicks straight into gear — pistons into his ass with punishing thrusts, too rough and too fast. And Jared just melts into it. Lets his body go limp and his muscles retract as Jensen ruts against that nub inside him, pummeling it so hard and _so good_ that Jared feels like he’s got the shimmy-shakes, a quivering _mess_.

He moans in pleasure-pain, knowing damn well if he wasn’t all fucked up and fuzzy on pills that his insides would be screaming bloody murder. Thanks the devil himself for a prescription that smudges away the jagged edges and makes everything smooth. Gives him an _ache_ that Jared sinks deep into. Wants to feel him in his bones.

“That’s my boy,” grunts Jensen, fucking into him like an animal. Like one of the horses he’s usually so gentle with, trying to break him. Desperate for _control_.

He isn’t nice about it. Just fucks in and out, grabbing Jared’s hips for extra leverage, muttering and moaning incoherent sounds, ramping up his thrusts. And Jared loves how dangerous it feels, feeling Jensen go off the rails like this. Like he’s witnessing a break with reality, of a regression back to chaos.

Punishing. Penalizing, the only way he knows how.

It’s working.

Jared’s an incoherent mess, going limp as Jensen fucks him straight into the mattress. It’s wild and it’s broken and it’s just so _them_. Their new normal. His heart’s a hammering mess, adrenaline kicked in as pill residue floats through his veins. Feels like he’s gonna be torn into two, bruised and battered as Jensen’s hands dig into his hip bones. And every jackhammer forces unprocessed emotion to the surface — love, shame, dedication, despair. It’s all there, tangled up and in between their two desperate bodies, thrusting back and forth into each other like the world’s gonna end.

Like a part of it already has.

Jensen gets intense now. Leans down till he’s flat on Jared’s back, snakes his arms under his belly like a forever-lover and pushes into him good. Breathes nonsense words at his ear,

 _“I know you ain’t him. I know that. I do.”_ Gets even deeper, thrusting fast and hard like a goddamn machine gun. Like he’s been programmed for this. _“Know you ain’t gonna die on me…”_

Jared winces at those words, barely registering them amidst all his own fucked-up love feelings. He just wants Jensen to hurt him more, so he can feel something greater than himself. So he can know that everything between them has been real. So he can _forget_. Feels his body go pliant as Jensen hushes desperate sex noises at his skin, makes love-bites on shoulder blades.

“Gonna fuck you so good, Jared. Gonna love you forever and treat you right. Gonna... gonna —”

The room alights with a guttural moan from Jensen, mouthing at the sweat on Jared’s back as he comes, slicking up Jared’s insides with love and lust. Rides it out, the ecstasy, the _pain_ , until his body starts to shake. Till his heart gets spent.

When it’s all said and done, Jensen pulls out as quickly as he’d entered, leaving a sore spot in Jared’s insides that feels even emptier than before. Jared hears the tuck-in and a quick _zip_ of zipper and then Jensen’s stomping around the foot of the bed and marching straight out the door, slamming it shut as he disappears into the night.

Sex, drugs, and sleep always find Jared easily.

~~~

Some time later, Jared awakens to body aches and muffled words. In his post-sex Oxy haze, he’d managed to strip himself down and crawl under the covers, curling up in Jensen-smelling sheets. His brain barely registers that beautiful voice coming from just outside the cabin window.

“Right, like, out of control. Like I ain’t myself. Feels like I’m losing my goddamn mind.”

Silence.

_Must be on a cell phone._

Jared struggles to keep his ears open.

“Yeah, thought about it. Be lyin’ if I said I hadn’t.” Jensen sighs. “That’s why I’m the asshole who’s callin’ you past midnight to talk me down. _Jesus_ , this ain’t me. Ain’t me at all…”

Jared’s brain is all foggy. He drifts in and out.

Lets the sandman take him away.

Forgets this cruel world for awhile.


	33. Chapter 33

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

_____________________

The morning breaks with a profound stillness. Quiet, serene. All asleep except for one.

Jared rolls over in bed to meet a warm body but gets trapped. He opens his eyes. Jensen is lying on top of the covers, fully clothed, staring at the ceiling. Jared plants a soft kiss at his bicep, peeking out beneath the sleeve of an army T-shirt.

“What’s wrong?” Jared croaks, stirring himself from sleep. There’s a dull ache at his temple. Nothing that two Oxys won’t alleviate.

Jensen pauses for a moment, considering his response. Settles on a short, “Didn’t sleep.”

Jared hums a soft exhale into Jensen’s skin. Smells like wood stove smoke and wilderness. “Funny, I thought you’d be extra tired after last night.”

At the memory of it — of them together, buck-wild and unbridled — Jensen curls to his side, facing Jared. Snakes his arms under the sheets and pulls him as close as he can manage. Burrows his face into the crook of Jared’s neck. Hides there.

“Sorry…” he whispers.

“What’re you sorry about, the ass pounding of a century?" Jared grins. “You know I liked it. Sore as hell, though.”

Jensen buries himself even deeper in Jared’s skin. Tries to slip inside.

“Sorry I get like that,” he utters, barely a whisper on Jared’s skin. “All out of control. Don’t like how I feel when it happens. Hate treatin’ you too rough that way.”

Jared scoffs. "You won't hear me complaining." He runs his fingers through Jensen’s hair, massaging at his scalp. He likes the soft noises Jensen hums against his neck. “I mean, _Christ_ , Ackles, you can treat me like that any day of the week.”

Jensen sighs, exhales. Resigns himself to the fact that Jared doesn’t quite get it. Hasn’t got his listening ears on.

There’s an itch in Jared’s bones that occupies nearly all his attention these days.

“Hey, um… so, you got my — you know...”

He can feel Jensen wince against him, buried there and deep underground. Feels him pull away. Notices he looks sadder than usual. Jared watches as he reaches a hand under the mattress and pulls out the bag of pills. Withdraws two and pockets the rest for another hiding spot. Hands the pair over to Jared. Can’t look him in the eye.

“Thanks,” says Jared, swallowing them down. Feels so ashamed, so embarrassed, that he’s got to beg for them like this. That he’s reliant, like a lap dog. That he’s taking advantage of someone so sweet, so kind...

 _Change the subject, quick_.

Can’t think too much about it or he’ll perish. Makes him feel lower than dirt.

“Who were you talking to last night? Heard you on the phone.”

Jensen exhales. Runs a hand over tired face, wiping the slate clean. Doesn't work on worry-lines. “Called my sponsor. Helped talk me down.”

He frowns. “Talk you down from what?”

Jensen bites his bottom lip. Contemplating again. The truth or the lie.

Jared doesn’t know which he’d prefer to hear at this point.

“Can’t really go there right now,” hushes Jensen, creasing his brow as he settles on the abstract. “Ain’t ready to.”

Jared blinks. Lip trembles. “Is it… is it about the guy’s name on the —“

“Jared, _please_ ,” Jensen winces, urging him to quit where he’s at. Gets his eyes all scrunched up, trying to block out the pain. “Said I ain’t ready, okay?”

Jared’s belly aches at that. At the fact that Jensen can't be honest. That he’s hiding something from him. He supposes they’re equal that way. And he feels walls getting built up between them — distance growing, gaps widening. Can’t question him about it — about what’s _really_ going on — because then Jared would be a goddamn hypocrite. Knows he doesn’t deserve one ounce of Jensen’s truth for the way he’s been acting lately. It’s easier to just put all those bad emotions on the back-burner. He swallows.

“Can I have one more? Headache.”

Jensen closes his eyes. Jared can see tears forming at their corners. Utters in a barely-there whisper, “Okay.”

It’s a hard lesson, learned in defeat. That 'help' doesn’t hurt the ones you love.

~~~

Three days come and three days go. All blend together like fog.

Jared checks in at the cabin, twice 'a day, to get his prescription fix, measured out and dispensed by his favourite pharmacist.

It’s getting to Jensen. Getting to him good.

The secrecy, the lies, the covering and enabling. Jared knows that. But can’t help himself. He’s stuck — trapped in the life of an addict, fueled only by his next hit. He’s already forgotten how he’d ever gone sober in the first place. Can see the misery and pain of a drug free existence in Jensen’s eyes, which seem to be losing their spark with every pill he passes over.

Soon, the bag gets empty.

“Last two,” says Jensen on the third evening, placing the last pair of pills in Jared’s hand. Sun’s gone down and there’s a chill in the air. “Time to talk about your options.”

Jared swallows them dry. _Relief_. Furrows his brow, “What options? I’m gonna get more tonight.”

Jensen’s jaw clenches at that. He shakes his head, looks down at the floor. Gives his anger a last-ditch effort. It's easier than despair.

“Jared, for fuck’s sake, I’m a goddamn _recovery coach._ You get that? You think I can keep going like this? That I’ll just keep coverin’ for your stupid ass while you throw your life away? _Goddamn it!_ ” He slaps his hand down on his thigh and turns away, fixing to punch a hole in something. He shakes his head. Mutters, “Swear to god, I’m fixin’ to tell Doc everything when he gets back.”

Jared stands firm, although his heart starts to race at the thought of the whole system, rigged in his favour, coming crashing down. He takes the apologetic route.

“I know, I know, I’m a fucking idiot and you don’t deserve any of this and _I’m sorry_ ,” cries Jared. It’s the truth, at least. “But I don’t know what else to do. And you — you can’t tell Doc. You _can’t_. If you do, I’m gonna get shipped back to D.C. where I don’t stand a fucking _chance_ , Jensen. No one believes in me there. I've got no one...”

Jensen whips back around, puts a finger in Jared’s face. Hisses, “No one? Bullshit. You've got me — right here, right now, jack-ass. But you ain’t _listening_. That’s the problem, Padalecki. Always has been.” He shakes his head. "I can't do this any more. Can't be a part of it."

“Just one more bag,” says Jared, begging. “One more and I swear to god I’ll give it up. I know I can do it, like you said. Gonna get good again, I promise.”

Jensen’s anger dissipates. Turns to sadness instead. Gets soft as he steps closer.

“You know how many broken promises I’ve heard, kid? Enough to last a goddamn lifetime.”

“Please,” Jared scrabbles at the front of Jensen’s shirt. Kisses at his chest, over cotton fabric. “ _Please, please, Jensen_.” Works his way down to his knees, mouthing at bluejeans and belt buckles. “ _Promise_ …”

Starts to undo buttons and zippers.

“Jared, quit it...”

“ _Please_.”

A swirl of tongue, a warm, wet mouth.

“Don't...”

All Jared can hear is the voice in his head that screams he’s gone too far and too far gone.


	34. Chapter 34

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

_____________________

There’s nothing like an Oxy high.

You feel like you can conquer the world. Like you’re invincible. Like you’ll never be unhappy again. Like your brain doesn’t even know what unhappy _is_. It feels like he’s back to normal again. Himself. Status quo.

Jared can’t believe he ever gave this shit up.

He’s been on a binge for three straight days. New shit — _fresh_ shit. Straight from town. There's a new dealer that cuts his tabs with god knows what. All Jared knows is it gives him a rush he's not used to. That he lives for.

Jared’s drinking now too. Got Jeff to bring him home some beers. Started there. Moved on to heavy stuff soon enough.

His secret’s still safe. On the down low. Jeff and Rush cover for him — all three of them are bound up in lies, bonded by deception. They collaborate to hide the cans and liquor bottles because they're scared as hell Jensen Ackles is gonna drop by, Beto and Doc in tow, to shut the whole place down.

He never does.

Jared makes the sober realization that Jensen's not checking up on him anymore. Refuses to pill-handle. That he keeps his distance in the barn when Jared drops by. That he pulls away at night when Jared tries to start something. Where he'd once enabled Jared's headsick habit, Jensen's gone off and quit him cold turkey.

And even at a distance, through his Oxy stupor, Jared observes a marked deterioration:

Jensen’s worse for wear these days. A worried heart weighs heavy on him. Wavers between tough and tender love. Jared's giving him whiplash.

Doc is getting back from his fundraising tour in two days. Jensen swears to god he’s gonna tell him everything. Gonna rat Jared out… Tells him that much in hushed, angry tones.

Jared could give two shits. All it means is he’ll be sent home sooner. Back to D.C. and his old habits. The ones he’s used to. Grew up with.

So he can forget about the fact that he’s gonna lose the only thing that’s ever mattered to him. The person that watched over him as he said _‘fuck it_ ’ to his dignity. The man who taught him how to care about someone. The one who loved him with all his heart, unconditionally. The one Jared promised he’d never leave… never let down…

He buries his head in his pillow. Cries until he can’t breathe.

Sinks into his addiction like quicksand.

He’s getting close to rock bottom.

~~~

It’s half-past midnight, a whole earth’s rotation later, and Jared’s high as hell. His bloodstream is _singing_.

Tonight, something’s changed in him — something cloying under his skin, sickly sweet and saccharine. He’s in a sentimental mood. Senses the end of something. Gets last-ditch desperate.

He showers up, slips on his cleanest T-shirt and jeans, takes a swig of whiskey to wash down four Oxys, a new record. Puts drops in his eyes to make his pupils look normal. Tucks his pill-stash and the liquor bottle into the front of his jeans. Knows he’s gonna do the devil’s work tonight, but it’s the only way his drug-fucked mind can make sense of everything — the only way the two of them can be together.

Jensen’s really gonna learn.

Jared loves to crash and burn.

He makes it down to the ranch, steadyish on his feet despite several en-route swigs of booze, past the barn and right onto Jensen’s doorstep.

It takes three sets of knuckle-rapping for a sweatpants-clad Jensen Ackles to appear at the door, rubbing at his eyes. Looks like he hasn’t slept in days. The dark circles are _darker_.

“ _Jesus_ , Jared, what's... You oka —”

“Want you to fuck me,” says Jared, breathy and insistent. He pushes inside the cabin, grabs hold of Jensen and won’t let go. “Please, I need it.”

It catches Jensen off-guard, Jared’s lusty plea. Feels life or death. He stumbles back, Jared clinging to him as they stumble across the threshold, shutting the door behind them.

“Jared, you’re high as a goddamn kite.”

Jared hums. “Don’t worry about it.”

Kisses Jensen, sloppy and loose. And Jensen’s mouth is inviting — his sleepy tongue sliding lazily along Jared’s greedy one. He hasn't kissed Jared in days. Been stubborn about it.

“Hate this,” Jensen utters between kisses. “Hate us like this. Miss what we were."

“Then fuck me like you used to,” Jared pleads, pawing insistently at Jensen’s chest, waist, hips. Stumbles on his feet and pushes their foreheads together to get steady. Breathes, “Need this.”

“Jared, you can barely stand straight,” Jensen’s lip quivers, fighting his own body’s desire to say _‘fuck it’_ and give the kid the good-dicking he deserves. “It don’t feel right. Can't do it.“

“ _Please_ , Jensen. Wanna feel you inside me.” He rolls his hips and grinds up against Jensen, all slutty and stoned like he’d practiced in Washington.

And Jared knows that when he gets like this, he’s kryptonite for lonely White House interns, or low-level journalists looking to get fucked up and stick their dick in a warm and pliant mouth. He pulls out his best whore-slut eyes tonight, imploring Jensen to give him what he needs. Wearing him down.

“Wanna get all fucked up, Jen. The way I know you can.” He bites down on Jensen’s neck, causing a hungry ‘ _ahhh’_ noise. “Know you like when I get needy.”

And Jensen's only human. He’s infallible. Just like the rest of them. Just another recovery boy. In a moment of weakness, he grinds back against Jared, running his hands all over his unsteady body, itching to get inside tight places. Longing to forget about the world for a few minutes and —

Jensen freezes when he presses a hand to the front of Jared’s jeans and feels an uncanny, unnatural bulge.

“What’s —” Jensen paws around the object. Dips inside Jared’s waistband.

Jared bites his lip, heart racing.

_He’s evil. He’s pathetic. He’s the worst person in the world for doing this..._

When Jensen withdraws his hand, it's got a half-pint of _Wild Turkey Rare Breed_ it it.

Kentucky straight, bourbon whiskey, 100-proof.

Jensen Ackles kryptonite.

Jared watches in fascinated horror as Jensen's fingers tremble at the bottle. His green eyes turn black like Jared’s never seen them. Shadows darken the lines in his face. In an instant, Jensen goes from sober coach to broken soldier. A fighter. A machine. Ready for battle. Ready to kill or be killed.

_Truth is, we’re all just one thought, one slip, away from being back in our addiction. Understand?_

Turns out Jared was listening all along.

As if programmed, Jensen’s fingers slide automatically around the neck of the bottle, fingering at the cap until it twists off with a _craaack_. The sound makes his body twitch, every sense activating, his head swimming and nostrils flaring as the alcohol scent memories flood his brain.

“That’s for me,” says Jared, snatching the bottle from Jensen’s hand, regretful already. Takes a quick swig. Barely swallows before shoving his tongue down Jensen’s throat, giving him a taste. Making him _burn_.

Jensen’s whole body starts to shake.

_Just one thought, one slip, away…_

Jared’s gonna do them both in. Like Capulet and Montague.

Tonight is a lapse in judgement. Desperate desecration.

Tomorrow’s double-day zero again.


	35. Chapter 35

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

_____________________

_Jared. Jared. Jared._

Voices. He thinks he hears voices — far away but somehow close too. Can feel the ghost of fingerprints on his jaw. A little shake and shimmy. A splash of cold water.

_Jared. Jared. JARED._

Thinks he hears sirens, sees the flash of blues and reds on the insides of his eyelids.

He feels himself slipping. Lets the darkness overtake him. And it’s wrong, he knows, to free-fall from this high up, but it just feels so nice and warm and quiet.

The last thing he feels before going black is the hug of desperate hands.

A kiss of whiskey on his lips.


	36. Chapter 36

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

_____________________

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

Jared’s in a daze — a groggy headspace. He’s out of whack, feels all drugged up and not sure where he is. And he’s _tired_ — more tired than he’s ever been. Like his very life force has been zapped from his body.

Or maybe he’s just clean again.

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

As he slowly opens one eye, he’s struck with the realization that he’s lying in a hospital bed. That the beeping sound he hears is from a monitor hooked up to his chest, measuring his heart rate.

“Wh-what…”

A moment later, a nurse appears at his side. She places a gentle hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, Mr. Padalecki. Just relax.”

He takes a deep breath and refocuses on what’s around him. “Where am I? What happened?”

“You had a lethal amount of opioids in your system which caused you to stop breathing. You went into cardiac arrest.”

Profound sadness overwhelms him. Can barely get the words out.

“I - I overdosed? My… my heart stopped?”

“Yes,” says the nurse. “You’re stable now, but you had us worried for awhile. You’re lucky to be alive, Mr. Padalecki.”

He blinks. Can scarcely believe any of it’s real. “But how — how did I…”

“Your friend saved your life. Big tall guy, Southern drawl. He gave you CPR, kept you alive until Emergency Services arrived with the Narcan.”

“Jensen?” he asks, tears burning at his eyes. Squeezes them shut to try to stave off all the bad memories. “He’s here?”

The nurse sighs. “He rode here in the ambulance with you. Waited until the doctors got a hold of you before he took off. Was in pretty rough shape himself.”

Suddenly it all comes flooding back. The pills. The booze. Drunken, drugged-up sex on the cabin floor. The addict’s desperation in their eyes.

“He — he hasn’t been back?”

_No. Tell me he’s not…_

“Sorry, hunny.”

The whole world collapses in on him. Summons every ounce of courage he can muster to keep existing. Can’t bear to think too deeply about where Jensen is now and what he’s doing.

_And how it’s all your fault._

“What about my Dad? Has he been…”

He trails off when he catches the nurse looking at him with something like pity. She points to a large bouquet of flowers on the bedside table. On the card, ' _Dad_ ' is written in his assistant’s handwriting.

It doesn’t phase him as much as it should. “When can I leave?”

“We want to keep you here for another 24 hours, just to be safe.”

It’s a lonely, no-sleep night in the hospital.

~~~

The next morning, he’s as miserable as ever. He’s got a private room — his father’s ‘ _I love you_.’ Reruns of _The Bold and the Beautiful_ are playing on a loop on the TV. Nothing to do other than suck on ice chips and replay all the memories he wishes would disappear.

His veins don’t itch as much for Oxy. They’ve got him on a steady diet of Suboxone tablets, opioid receptor blockers. Doesn’t cure the real pain though. The pain that lives inside his bones. His head.

At noon, a familiar face walks through the door. One who’s seen him in dire straits before.

“Hi, Jared, how you doin’?”

 _Doc_.

The genuine kindness in his smile makes Jared’s eyes spill over with tears.

“I’m okay,” he says, faltering and fighting a lip quiver. Tastes salt-tears at the corners of his mouth. “Don’t blame you if you’re pissed. Hate that I let you down.”

Doc just smiles and shakes his head. Takes a seat next to Jared’s bed. “Recovery doesn’t always work the first time. That’s why we come back.”

The gentleness of his words, his kind eyes… it makes Jared’s body tense and coil with agony, pain ripping through him like shards of glass. He curls up into the fetal position and wails in pain.

“ _I don’t wanna do this anymore…_ Can’t do it anymore...”

A warm hand is placed on his shoulder. Soothes around his upper back.

“I know, I know,” comforts Doc. “Boy, I’ve seen enough rock bottoms to know when someone’s hit one.”

Jared sobs uncontrollably for another minute and then un-tenses his muscles, straightens out again. “So... so, what happens now? I get shipped off to jail or something?”

“Jail?” Doc chuckles. “Jared, we’ve got a bed for you at Jacob’s Ladder if you’re willing to come back and restart the program.”

There are no words. No words that can convey the gratitude he feels. He sure as hell doesn’t deserve it.

“You’re a good kid,” adds Doc. “Hate to see you throw it all away.”

Jared swallows and goes quiet. Feels the opposite. Feels anything _but_.

And he wants to ask. Needs to _know_.

“Is Jensen... is he okay?”

Doc gazes at him, long and hard. Jared can see in his eyes that he knows everything — about the drugs, the secrecy, their being _together_.

“Jensen’s gonna be just fine.”

 _Not good enough_.

“Please, Doc. I need to know…”

Doc takes a deep breath and sighs it out. “Jared, the night you OD’d… Well, seeing you as good as dead in his arms took a mighty toll on him. Got himself in a bad way. Went straight back to the bottle as soon as he got you here.”

Jared’s heart sinks, _down, down, down_ to the pit in his belly. Gets dizzy from the ringing in his ears.

“He — he relapsed. Because of me.”

Nothing feels worse than this.

“He’s gonna be alright again, you wait," says Doc. "And despite what you may be tellin' yourself, it’s not your fault. We can only control our own actions. Your only job is to focus on _your_ recovery.”

“Where is he?” Jared demands, tears burning at his eyes. Doesn't have the right to know, but insists anyway.

Doc sighs. “Checked himself into a treatment centre in Johnson County, Kentucky last night. He thought it best to get some distance. Tie up a few loose ends before he starts thinkin’ about where he’s gonna head next.”

“He’s not coming back?” says Jared, voice trembling. “But, Jacob’s Ladder… it won’t be the same without him.”

“Jensen’s been a key part of my team — like family — since before Jacob’s Ladder even began. And I’ll always have a place for him in my family. But Jensen’s got enough years under his belt to know he’s got to take care of himself — get his mind right again — before he can take care of others.”

“Where is he?” Jared repeats, trying to process everything. “He saved my life, I have to see him.”

“Jared…”

“I know I have no right. I know that. But, Doc, _please_. I've got to see him."

Doc stares at him with pity-filled eyes. Knows something Jared doesn't. At last, he leans forward, puts his hand on Jared’s shoulder and sighs.

“Kiddo, Jensen told me he doesn't want to see you for awhile. I'm sorry.”

The real reason addicts lie is because the truth is what hurts the most.


	37. Chapter 37

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

_____________________

Life sucks better sober.

And that’s all there is to it.

Jared returns to Jacob’s Ladder like he promised. This time, he comes clean. No pills in pockets, no addiction to hide. Sober house gets shut down — Rush is shipped off to rehab two counties over, Jeff is god knows where doing god knows what. It’s quieter now. Less noise and distractions as Jared spends his days raking the autumn leaves, milking the cows, spreading hay in the pasture.

Gets back to the bottom rung. Gonna do things right this time.

He goes through the motions, drags his feet up the twelve steps, stumbling here and there, catching toes on the edges, losing his footing. It’s hard to stay on balance when half of you is missing. With Jensen gone it feels like a part of him’s been amputated — lobbed off, shredded, and chucked aside like dead weight. Although Jared can still feel him, lingering like a phantom limb. Catches himself from time to time, pressing a hand to his chest, trying to touch his heart as if Jensen were caught there.

Every goddamn day at the dinner table, he looks, forlorn, to Doc or Beto, hoping beyond all hope there's word from Jensen. That he's doing alright. That he's back on the path to recovery. Back on the path that Jared had drilled into and paved over.

Every day he gets the shake of a head. A _maybe tomorrow_.

The weight gets heavier. Hates getting used to living without him — wonders when they’ll meet again, if he’s ruined them for good. He’ll never forgive himself for sweet-talking Jensen down that slippery slope with him.

But making amends is step nine.

Alphabetical or not, Ackles tops his list.

~~~

It’s been a month since Jared's overdose. A month with no word from Johnson County, Kentucky. Until, one day, an invitation arrives out of the clear blue.

“Jensen called,” says Doc, surveying Jared from across his office desk one evening.

Jared can scarcely breathe.

“He’s got visitation rights,” Doc continues, clicking his pen. “I’m gonna head down there this weekend. Was wondering if you might like to come along.”

With a gut-punch and a heavy-heart, Jared nods once. Swallows the lump in his throat. Can’t stand to string words together when his mouth’s not working right.

“Okay,” says Doc. “We leave Saturday morning at sunrise.”

~~~

They take the US-50 West across to Parkersburg, then down the I-64 past Huntington. Five and a half hours riding shotgun in a Ford F-150. Five and a half to consider what he’s gonna say. Prays he won’t suffer a loss for words.

Jared’s got a lot of repenting to do.

They arrive at the Southern Cross Recovery Centre in the middle of Paintsville, Kentucky, mid-afternoon. Jared takes a breath and follows Doc inside. He tells the lady at the desk they’re here to see Jensen Ackles. She tells them he’s in session, talk therapy, so they can wait in the back garden until he’s done.

Doc invites him to the diner next door to get lunch, but Jared declines. He wants to wait around. Vows to stay put, not move an inch from this picnic table. It’s a miracle Doc lets him.

So Jared waits, twiddling his thumbs in the back garden. Gets a pain in his gut when sees recovery patients milling about in wheelchairs and white robes, like they’re dying or something.

Hell, he supposes everyone is.

It doesn’t seem right for Jensen to be in a place like this. So clinical, _clean_. No horseshit on his shoes or sugarcane in his teeth. And it’s no sooner than Jared wonders if Jensen is, in fact, living here that the love of his life walks through the back doors and into the sunlight.

 _God, forgive me_ …

It’s more guilt than Jared’s ever felt, seeing Jensen like this. Looking smaller in patient-prescribed plain clothes — a white cotton long sleeve and blue scrubs — as he’s escorted out into the garden by one of the staff. But gorgeous as he ever was.

They catch eyes across the courtyard and, for a second, he sees Jensen’s face slip — a brief spark of joy that fades quickly to solemnity. Jared knows what that’s like.

He stands, heart hammering, as Jensen gets closer. Can’t smile, can’t frown, just _exists_ like a blank slate as Jensen squints one eye into the sun and says in that Southern drawl,

“Hey, Padalecki.”

Short and sweet. Just like he's always been.

“ _Hi_ ,” exhales Jared. He's been holding those two letters in for more than a month now.

And, no sooner than the words leave his mouth then, like a moth to the flame, they embrace. Pull each other in and hold on for dear life, bodies trembling, hearts beating. The familiar warmth, smell, press of fingerprints on skin.

It’s over before Jared knows it. They relinquish their hold on each other, trying to keep the swell of emotion from flooding over.

“Good to see you,” says Jensen, softly. Wipes his tears on his sleeve as he sits on the bench opposite Jared. He smiles, “You look good.”

“You too,” mumbles Jared, doing a piss-poor job of not crying. His mouth trembles in a frown, can’t quite find the words.

They just stare at each other for a moment, neither of them believing that the other is _here_. Neither knowing quite where to begin. At last, Jared takes the plunge. Gets warmed up with the smaller stuff.

“Weird place,” he says, glancing around at the giant chess boards and lawn bowling lanes. “No hay to stack, I take it.”

Jensen huffs a laugh. “Naw. Just manicured flower beds and fertilized grass.”

"So, not your scene at all.”

“Not my scene at all,” chuckles Jensen. He smiles as he looks at Jared, green eyes softening. Gets serious again. “Hell, I missed you, kid.”

Tears burn at Jared’s eyes. “Missed you too. Thought I might die if I couldn’t see you.”

"Sheesh, you were always so over-dramatic.”

Jared laughs, then softens again. “It’s the truth.”

Jensen shifts, fidgets. Breaks eye contact. Gets distant all of a sudden. “How’s the ranch?”

“Sucks,” says Jared, feeling terror creep through his veins at the way Jensen’s suddenly avoiding him. “Not the same without you.”

"And the horses?”

“Grant’s got everything under control. And I’ve been getting up at sunrise, brushing and feeding them. They’re in good hands.”

Jensen smiles, soft. “No doubt.”

It’s quiet for a minute and the air gets tense between them. The urgency of these fleeting moments is enough to make Jared honest. Everything comes bubbling up. His lip quivers and his voice shakes.

“ _I’m sorry…_ ” he sobs, his head dropping between his elbows on the table. “I’m so sorry for everything.”

Jensen’s sitting at his side in two seconds. Puts an arm around Jared’s shoulders, the other on his bicep, hugging him close.

“You’re sorry?” he hushes, fresh tears falling to his cheeks. “ _You’re_ … Jared, I’m the one that should be sorry. Hell, if you only knew how much I am.”

Jared lifts his head, meets his eye. “You're wrong. It’s all my fault. I broke all the rules and took advantage of you and I _ruined us_.”

“No,” says Jensen, sadly. He grits his teeth. “I was your sober coach, for Christ’s sake. I was supposed to be the one you looked up to. Who got tough and called your dumb-ass out when you were goin’ down a dark road. But I - I messed up and I got too close and… I failed.”

“You didn’t fail,” says Jared, refusing to believe it. “You saved me. Saved my life. If you hadn’t been there… if you hadn’t been with me when I —“

“I knew you were using,” says Jensen, cutting him off. His body trembles with pain, finally saying all the things he’s been holding inside. “Goddamn it, I knew you were using and I was in denial. Covered for you. Enabled you. I failed you as a sober coach.” He sighs, weary-weak and resigned. “Failed myself, too. Twelve goddamn years of sobriety. And here I am, back at square one.”

“You made it twelve years,” says Jared, softly. “Twelve years until a stupid little shit from D.C. walked into your life with a bottle of 100-proof. It’s a slip up, but it doesn’t have to define you. That’s what you always told us, remember?”

“Can’t believe it’s gonna end like this,” Jensen whispers to himself. He shakes his head, turns and looks Jared dead in the eye. “You were the most important… the best thing that’s ever —” His breath hitches in his chest. Tears wet his cheeks. “I just can’t believe I've gone and fucked it up beyond fixin'.”

“You didn’t,” says Jared, feeling desperate, leaning in. Places a hand on Jensen’s cheek. “Look, we’re both okay. We’re in recovery now. We can still be _us._ Once this is all over we can be together and —“

His stomach sinks when Jensen shakes his head. Reaches for Jared’s hand on his cheek and pulls it away.

“No, darlin’, we can’t,” he utters, with an air of finality that stuns Jared into silence. Takes Jared’s hands in his own. Speaks soft and slow. “You gotta understand. I know addiction like the back of my hand. And I’ve done a lot of thinking lately...”

_This isn’t happening. It can’t be…_

“Jared, I can't trust myself to stay clean if you’re in the picture. 'Specially now I know the lengths I’ll go to keep you close. I mean, _Jesus_ , my denial nearly got you killed." He shakes his head. "Ain’t no coming back from that.”

There’s no way he’s gonna let Jensen give up this easy.

“But we belong together,” Jared pleads. “We’re gonna work our programs, get okay again. And — and I promise I won’t be so weak this time. Gonna prove it to you.”

“We both know promises don’t mean shit,” says Jensen, chest hitching. Stifles a sob. “But, Jared, I’m tellin’ you the god’s honest truth — I can’t be with you and stay sober. Wish I could. Dear god, I wish I could.”

Jared can’t believe his ears. In the month since they’d both relapsed, he’d imagined a thousand different ways the conversation would unfold. Not once did he envision such a nightmare as this — that Jensen would be saying goodbye.

It feels… real _._

“I - I don’t know how to do this… get clean… without you,” Jared stammers, gripping Jensen’s hands tighter and tighter in his own. “I don’t even know who I am without you.”

Jensen nods, as if finally getting the clarity he needs. “Sweetheart, that’s exactly why we have to go our separate ways. And it ain't right, but it’s all we got. It's survival. I know that now." He brings Jared’s hands to his lips, kisses them tenderly. “But goddamn it, if I wouldn’t sell my soul to go back and do things different.”

It’s Jared's turn to kiss Jensen’s hands now. Whimpers feebly, “You would’ve never been with me?”

Jensen’s eyes soften. Gazes at him with the most devastating, love-struck look Jared’s ever witnessed.

Breaks his heart.

“‘Course not,” he hushes. “Would never change what we were. I just wish to god I woulda been a stronger man for you."

He squeezes Jared’s hand one final time. ‘Goodbye’ floats in the air like a sober ghost.

“'Cause, Jared, for people like us? For addicts? Everything’s all or nothing. And if it feels this ‘nothing’ now…” He shakes his head, longing and loving. “Well, I’m sure as hell glad we had ‘all’ for awhile.”


	38. Chapter 38

EPILOGUE

_____________________

It takes Jared three more tries — one more relapse and an overdose — until things finally start to click. Until he feels more in control over his thoughts, his moods, his impulses. It’s amazing what god and a good therapist does for broken spirits. Now he’s got a two year sobriety chip in his back pocket and none on his shoulder.

It’s not perfect. But it’s something to call his own.

It’s a start.

There’s still no such thing as “normal.” Every minute of every day, Jared has to micromanage his state of mind. Keep his guard up. Learn to deal with pain productively, healthily, without self-medicating. He’s still got a pill trigger pull at the back of his brain, but with each passing day, he thinks about getting high a little less. He’s a work in progress, he knows that.

Life’s not the same as it once was. It could never be.

Not without _him_.

Missing Jensen is like pressing on a permanent bruise — a persistent ache, tender and brooding just under the skin. And he thinks about him often, wondering what could have been had they not been so stupid. Remembers their time on the farm with fondness and devotion. Keeps their love tucked close to his heart — the kind that lasts lifetimes, transcends the bounds of time and space. The kind that comes around once. (Twice, if you're lucky.)

In quiet moments, when Jared’s meditating or book-reading, he tucks his hand in his pocket and closes his fingers around Jensen’s 30-day chip, the one he’d gifted him on Family Day back at the ranch. Closes his eyes and relives the pain of their final moments together at the picnic table in Paintsville, Kentucky.

Before the world ended and got born again.

“I want to give you something,” said Jared, as Doc headed back to the truck, leaving them alone to say goodbye. Gazed into those brilliant green eyes for the last time, brain working in overdrive to memorize every detail of his face. Every freckle and laugh line. To learn him by heart.

He reached into his pocket. Pulled out his own 30-day sobriety chip, the new one, and placed it in the palm of Jensen’s hand.

“Earned it yesterday,” he said, heart wrenching as he watched Jensen trace his thumb over the letters. “Now we have each other's.”

Jensen closed his palm tight, protecting it. Lips trembling as the words spilled out. “I’ll love you forever. You know that?”

Jared nodded, tears in his eyes, trying not to get swallowed into the earth. Leaned in and kissed him on the mouth, savouring him one last time. Translating all the things Jared wished he could say into their embrace. Then closed his hands around the token, protected in Jensen's palm. Whispered, "Don't forget about me, okay?"

A strong hand cradled his cheek, trembling as he wiped teardrops away. Leaned in close, lips brushing.

"Not possible." Kissed him one last time. A goodbye.

There comes a time to get gone. To cut your losses.

Rally and recover.

Looking back, Jared had felt the earth shift in his bones.

Right before they'd parted ways, Jensen placed a gentle hand on Jared's chest — hovered right over his heart.

"Take care of this," he said, pressing tender fingerprints into flesh, looking like he wanted nothing more than to clutch at Jared's heart and carry it with him. "Keep it open. Don't let walls get built up around it, you hear? Swear it..."

He'd heard time and time again — _promises don't mean shit._ But it was the closest they’d ever come.

"I swear."

It's been the toughest vow to keep. But Jared tries. Does a little every day to un-lay bricks and patch the holes.

Jared knows no one will ever measure up to his recovery boy. No one will ever come close to what they had that summer at Jacob’s Ladder. But the imprint of Jensen’s love will stay etched in him forever. He's the reason Jared knows about love and devotion. The reason why he's done the tough work to heal his heart, to learn to love himself, demons and all. He’s the reason why Jared became a volunteer sober coach, heading up Narcotics Anonymous meetings in his new home of Nashville, Tennessee. The reason why he serves as a sponsor for a few recovery boys of his own.

Ones who struggle, just like him.

Can’t help the way his heart aches every time he goes out on the road and passes by a farm, the earthy smell of cows and chicken feed, campfire smoke, and fresh hay turning him into a tear-stained mess.

But he lets himself feel the pain. Swears by it. Reminisces and remembers.

Then he breathes. He survives. He lives on.

One day at a time.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for coming along on this journey with my recovery boys. Love you all. <3
> 
> For those wondering where beautiful Jensen ended up... practice patience, my darlings. I have some pretty brain-waves and wholesome words percolating. I don't think my heart's quite ready to be done with these two boys yet. <333
> 
> Hit the ['subscribe' button](https://archiveofourown.org/users/weefaol/) on my dash to keep me in your memory. In the meantime, I created a tumblr aesthetic (nsfw) for recovery boys [here](https://weefaol.tumblr.com/tagged/recovery-boys-aesthetic). Also, check out the [trailer](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XSS9kYipRLk) for the documentary this story was based on and visit the world and characters that inspired me.
> 
> Oh, and my other J2 fics are [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&include_work_search%5Brelationship_ids%5D%5B%5D=5494&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&commit=Sort+and+Filter&fandom_id=2031&user_id=weefaol) for your reading pleasure-pain.
> 
> Leave a little comment if you liked my story. Your lovely words inspire me to write more. <3
> 
> Find me and more wolfy tales on [tumblr](https://weefaol.tumblr.com/).


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